


Ripples

by winterwonderland



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 78,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwonderland/pseuds/winterwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his brother in hospital, Crixus on a hopeless rescue mission and Spartacus’ club in more trouble than ever, the last thing Agron needs is someone new messing up his schedule. Especially if that someone is a bratty kid whose greatest skill seems to be to know how to push Agron’s buttons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here’s another old story, this time with fewer assassins and more bikers. And I'm almost sure there's a plot hiding in there somewhere, but I should warn you that it is a slow build, the relationship part in particular.

 

“The sun’s going down,” he said, looking out into the darkening sky mostly hidden behind the rundown apartment buildings and car parks that dominated the view from the window. “Looks like it’s gonna be a clear night. I think it’s supposed to be a full moon in like two days.”

He forced on a smile, but it froze on his lips and he scrubbed his face and groaned; he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. It wasn’t like his brother needed to hear him chit-chatting about the weather.

It was just that Agron couldn’t stand a second of silence in this place. And when there was no radio or TV on to make noise it was all up to him. Because if he wasn’t speaking, then the only thing to hear was the insidious, insistent beeping of the heart monitor.

 _Beep_. _Beep. Beep._

In a never-ending loop.

And if he had to listen to that for a minute longer, it would be two people that wouldn’t be getting out of this room alive.

He raised his hand to his neck and cleared his throat then tried to swallow around the tightness. It was getting hard to breath.

“They drove down to Riverside yesterday,” he continued abruptly, changing the topic to something he hoped his brother might find more interesting, “apparently Crixus got a tip about one of the clubs there.”

Agron shook his head; it was no secret how he felt about Crixus’ latest adventure. “So, now he’s on this wild goose chase along Santa Ana like some fucking cowboy on a mission, thinking he’s gonna ride into town and save the girl. And of course he had to drag Spartacus along, as if the club didn’t have more important shit to deal with.”

It wasn’t that Agron didn’t agree on principle. Being loyal to the bone was one of the few redeeming qualities he had, and hurting one of the family was the same as hurting a Brother and that shit always carried a punishment – he had been known to deal those himself once or twice. But there were priorities to consider. With the future of the club hanging in the balance, this wasn’t the time to be chasing after ghosts. And if they were going to be avenging deaths, surely they wouldn’t start with Crixus’ special of the day but with Sura, or Varro, or Aurelia.

Or...

Agron caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and took in the dark circles under bloodshot eyes and the three-day-stubble, the worry line now forever etched between his brows. Twenty-something going on forty-five, it wasn’t a great look.

He vowed to himself that he would at least shave before going back to the shop tomorrow.

“So, anyway...all that has left me and Donar spinning the wheels back here on our own. Which is great, because it’s not like I had enough shoes to fill as it is.” The laugh that escaped was more like a huff of sarcastic air as he slowly turned away from the window to face the room again.

He looked over to the bed and did his best to ignore the tubes and iv-lines and monitors and machines and only concentrate on the man lying there.

“You know they’ve shaved your hair again, right?” He looked at his brother’s face and smiled abruptly; he could almost hear the man’s voice in his head even now. “Yeah, yeah...it looks better on you. I didn’t have the face to pull off all that skin, did I? But I’m working this buzz cut now, thank you very much.”

He kept staring at the other man for what seemed like forever, and then the view started to became blurry and he was forced to blink and then blink again to try and keep his vision clear. And then his legs nearly gave out from under him and he sat down heavily on the nearest flimsy plastic chair that almost toppled over under his weight.

“That bullet was meant for me, and you know it,” he said, voice so raw it was barely audible, “It’s me who should be lying there, not you.” _Never you._

He reached out his hand but then left it hovering over his brother’s pale one. The remaining nerve function meant that Duro could still on occasion have automatic reactions to touch and sound – or at least his body would. Once his brother had even opened his eyes, succeeding to scare the living shit out of him in the process. And it was selfish, he knew, but Agron couldn’t bear it. He was barely coping as it was.

Eventually, he ended up grasping the edge of the bedding instead, holding on so tight that his knuckles turned white.

“Look, I promise I will fucking see this thing with Batiatus through, okay? You hear me, Duro? With or without Spartacus, it’s been long enough. I’ll see you right, I promise. And you know you can trust your big brother.”

There was a soft rap on the door and he quickly looked up from the bed. The woman walking in was wearing pale blue scrubs, a white coat and a tight smile. Agron scrambled up from the chair, doing his best to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Hey, Doc.”

She gave a quick nod and raked her fingers through her long dark hair, looking like she was fighting a sigh. “Still here, huh?”

Agron shrugged. It wasn’t like he had somewhere else to be.

“So, how’s he doing?”

“You’re the doctor, Mira. You tell me.”

She walked over and picked up the folder hanging on the end of the bed, while Agron leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He recognized the look on her face and knew he wouldn’t like what was coming. He fought the irrational urge to just run out of the room or cover his ears like a petulant three-year-old.

“I think it’s time we discussed your options again,” she started, as she kept idly flipping back and forth through the pages.

“Options for what?”

She glanced up from the chart and gave him a tired look. “You’re not a stupid man, Agron, so stop acting like one.”

Silence fell for a moment and the heart monitor beeped again.

“He’s going to wake up,” Agron said, already hating the desperation in his voice.

Mira shook her head slowly. “I know you want to believe that, but the reality is that in the vast majority of cases any expected recovery will happen in the first two weeks...”

For Duro, the first two weeks had passed a long time ago.

“...And in your brother’s case the extensive neuronal necrosis and the trauma to the cerebral cortex means that any meaningful recovery is no longer possible. Agron, you really need to start thinking about this as a question of quality of life, not life and death. He’s never going to wake up, he’s never going to be able to function, be himself again.”

“He could.”

Agron’s eyes fell on his brother on the bed, and it looked like he was just sleeping, nothing more. His heart was bumping, his lungs were pushing out air, he was still growing stubble. He wasn’t dead.

“He could,” Agron repeated, quickly feeling the familiar heat of anger stirring under his skin, “shit like that happens all the time.”

Her eyes could have cut glass. “No, it doesn’t. Not in a state like this, I have told you. The damage is irreversible. And the sooner you force yourself to accept that the better for everyone.”

“Everyone?” How could his brother being dead be better for _anyone_?

“Yes, everyone,” she answered calmly. “ _You_ can finally start mourning properly like you should, Duro’s body will no longer be forced to artificially function against his wishes, and some very grateful people on the waiting list will get another chance to life.”

“And what the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You know what your brother thought about donating.”

Of course Agron knew that, he had been on the receiving end of his brother’s passionate speeches on that subject as well as various other causes more times than he could count. But that was different. That was Duro being Duro; and this was Agron, being asked to kill him in cold blood and offer out his organs to the highest bidder like his brother was nothing more than a rotting carcass at a meat auction.

“So, not only do you want to pull the plug, but now you’re gonna cut him up as well?”

“It’s what he would have wanted.”

“Is it now?”

There was bile rising in his throat. _How would you know? Have you asked him?_

“You’d rather keep him hooked up to a machine indefinitely just so you can feel a little less alone in the world? Is _that_ what he would have wanted?”

Agron flexed his fingers. He had a general code about never kicking dogs or hitting women, but then again, no rules were unbreakable. He had no interest in being mauled to death either.

“The nurse will need to come in to take some tests, so I think it’s better if you come back some other time,” Mira said, looking completely unaffected by the storm brewing on the horizon.

When Agron didn’t move at once, she gave a sharp nod of her head towards the door.

“Later, Agron.” It wasn’t a request.

He peeled himself off the wall with a frustrated groan and grabbed his jacket from the bed, pushing past the woman with a little more force than necessary on his way out the door.

“How’s Spartacus?” she asked suddenly behind his back, making him stop on his feet and then reluctantly turn around. “I’ve been trying to reach him, but his phone’s been cut off since Wednesday.”

“Too busy flattening out whorehouses in Riverside with Crixus to check his voicemail, I’m guessing,” he answered with a sneer.

It may not have been the only reason the man was ducking her calls at the moment, but Agron had no inclination to get involved in any more relationship drama if he could avoid it. Crixus’ drama was enough.

“Any luck?”

Agron scoffed. “As far as I’m concerned, the woman’s already dead or skipped continents, either way, they’ll never find her. They’re just refusing to see sense.”

“Still...” Mira sighed and Agron could see that the ice behind her eyes was starting to melt, if only a fraction. “It’s hard to give up hope, even when you know you should. Isn’t it, Agron?”


	2. Chapter 2

It was a little before nine when Agron finally drove into the parking lot that morning. He had had a late start, but he figured he was owed at least that after the back-to-back all-nighters he had been doing lately. Let someone else take care of the morning shift for once.

He parked the truck near the front of the clubhouse, and it was only then that he recognized Spartacus’ ride by the door. Agron sighed and rubbed the tension building at the back of his neck. He could only hope the man had arrived alone and Crixus wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity. After everything that had been going on with the club and with Duro, he was walking a thin line right now and there was only so much he could take without exploding. And Crixus’ presence definitely wasn’t on that list.

He was about to open the car door when a whimper from the passenger seat alerted him to another presence inside. He glanced to his side and was met with a pair of brown eyes. He closed his own for a second and let out another sigh.

“I’ll be back in a sec, you mutt, just need to welcome the boss home first,” he said appeasingly and gave the dog a quick scratch behind the ear before stepping out, wondering to himself when exactly he had become the kind of person who talks to their pets as if they were human beings. It was not a good sign.

It was already hot out, even at this hour, and Agron was happy he had left his sweater behind; he would probably be boiling even in his white t and cut by the end of the day. He raised his hand back to his neck and the skin was already clammy with sweat. So he hastened his step as he crossed the lot and made his way towards the clubhouse and the promise of crappy air-conditioning.

Their compound was a decent size, at the edge of the city, isolated from the rest of the world by a chain-link fence on all sides. It housed most of their business in town, the only exception being Crixus’ dingy boxing gym a few miles further outside the city limits.

The back of the lot was taken up by two big boxes of corrugated iron: Agron’s repair shop and the warehouse that doubled if not tripled as everything from bike shed to makeshift gym to even temporary sleeping quarters when Spartacus’ endless sense of charity overtook him. The clubhouse stood lodged somewhere in between, and the street front of the property was occupied by the adjoining motel that itself had seen more of Spartacus’ refugees than actual paying customers over the years. To be honest, their whole operation was more like a rescue mission masquerading as a biker club, or at least that’s how it felt like to Agron most of the time. He was pretty sure half of the people he dealt with on a daily basis had never even owned a bike.

But then Spartacus was far more interested in taking in the huddled masses than adhering to the conventions of the trade. They made their living outside the law when need be – well, even a saint’s got to eat, right? But beyond that it was all Spartacus’ vision through and through, helping out those who wouldn’t get a hand anywhere else: ex-cons, undocumented, runaways...as long as they needed a place to stay and were willing to work and play by the rules, they were welcome. They might never get their cuts or patches but at least they got a hot meal every once in a while.

Spartacus’ idealism might have been admirable, but it still was a view Agron didn’t exactly share. At the end of the day, they were a club not a homeless shelter and the business they were in required muscle and people who could fight and hold a gun, not starving teenage mothers. The only reason Spartacus’ seeming softness flew at all in their circles was the fact that they had garnered enough of a reputation to the contrary over the years. The club wasn’t called Blood Brothers for nothing, and that gave them a buffer wide enough that their peculiarities were mostly tolerated.

And it was the president's willingness to see hope in the hopeless that had given Agron himself a second chance in life not that long ago, so if he didn’t want to sound like a complete hypocrite, he really couldn’t gripe about it too much. Out loud anyway.

He walked inside and it took him a moment to adjust to the dim lighting after the bright sunshine outside. But when he finally did, he had to blink a couple of times more just to understand what he was seeing.

Both the president _and_ the VP – to Agron’s great disappointment – were standing at the other end of the bar in the front room. But they were not alone, as Crixus had his hand around the throat of some skinny teenager who he had pushed flush against the wall. Spartacus was standing to the side and he had his gun out, but it seemed that he was revaluating the need as he was in the process of flicking the safety back on and shoving the weapon back in its holster.

The door behind Agron slammed close, making the others turn their attention briefly to him. And that is when Crixus apparently lost his concentration enough that the boy in his grasp was able to get away. He practically lunged towards the back entrance, only to be stopped by Spartacus, who quickly had him in a headlock. The prez was an old Navy guy, little got past him.

“So, what’s going on here?” Agron asked as he slowly walked over, his eyes darting from one person to the next until they finally settled on the newcomer.

The boy was probably South American, as they so often were around here, at least going by his long dark hair and tan complexion. His skinny frame was clad in a simple pair of jeans and a nondescript grey t-shirt that left most of the colorful ink on his arms on display.

It was hard to guess his exact age; he could have probably been anything from sixteen to early twenties, although the amount of tattoos he wore made Agron think that he must have been at least in his late teens, unless he had started that hobby _really_ young. And he did have a decent shadow of stubble and the general look of someone who’d seen too much to be a teenager. But on the other hand, he was short. And _so_ thin.

“A prospect never closed the bathroom window and now the rats got in,” Crixus snarled in explanation.

And Spartacus backed him up, though with a slightly less hostile glare. “We just walked in on him rummaging behind the counter.”

“Trying to steal from a club of all places, for fuck’s sake.” Crixus shook his head. “Not the sharpest knife in the box, are you kid?

For a moment it almost looked like the boy was ready to attack, but Spartacus’ hold on him was too tight, and he ended up flailing helplessly in the grip, before finally giving up.

“Money’s money, man. I don’t discriminate,” he said glaring at Crixus. “Anyway, you people are the ones who left a window open, that’s not so fucking smart either.”

Agron watched as Crixus took a step forward. The man might have been a fraction short of Agron’s height but still easily towered over the boy, who probably reached only a little more than five and a half on a good day.

“Look, you little shit–”

But he was cut off by Spartacus waving his hand in exasperation.

“That’s enough, Crixus. There’s no need to turn this into a sparring match.”

“So what are _you_ gonna do about him then?”

Spartacus stood still for a moment longer and then, despite vocal protesting from his captive, calmly reached around the boy and shoved a hand inside his jean pocket and proceeded to take out what looked like a considerable amount of cash – more than the boy could have gotten from the till alone. He must have gone straight for the shoe box under the desk, Agron thought to himself, oddly impressed.

Spartacus finally let go, and this time the boy didn’t attempt another escape but slumped back against the wall, while Spartacus held the wad of money in his hand and started counting. It was clear that he was deliberately taking his time.

“One thousand eight hundred and thirty-two dollars,” he said evenly once he was done. “Not exactly pocket change, kid.” He gave the boy a sideways look as he placed the money on the counter and slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, five bucks, ten bucks...okay, that’d be one thing, but this... It’s not something I can just let you walk away from. You must understand what I mean?”

The boy didn’t give a reply but swallowed visibly and for the first time that morning, Agron saw fear flashing back from those dark eyes. It was quick, but it was there.

“That’s worth a good day’s work at least, I’d say.”

Silence fell as the rest of the men in the room turned to stare at Spartacus in confusion, the kid by the wall included.

“Work?” Agron finally asked incredulously, hoping he wasn’t hearing what he thought he was hearing. Spartacus’ reputation for harboring strays might have been legendary but this was a little too ridiculous, even for him.

You didn’t feed the mouth that bit you; then you were just inviting trouble.

Spartacus leaned his back against the bar and turned to give Agron a dry look. “Yes, work. Might be a bit more useful than just beating up the kid, don’t you think?”

Agron and Crixus shared a look, for once in their lives finding themselves standing on equal ground. Agron groaned in frustration while it was up to Crixus to voice their newfound consensus.

“So that little shit tries to steal two grand, and you fucking give him a job? Have you gone insane, man?”

But Spartacus only smiled amicably, his eyes still trained on the young man in front of him.

“Agron, you were saying that you needed a hand with the new delivery, am I right?”

His eyebrows shot up as he looked back at their president in full disbelief. “Spartacus...”

“You’re going to say no to free labor?”

“I’m not looking for a new pet,” he spat out, growing gradually more and more irritated of this stupid charade. “And even if I was, it sure as hell wouldn’t be a fucking poodle who’d just shit in my shoe.” He shot the boy a tired look, only to receive a fiery glare in return.

“Fuck you, asswipe.”

He took a step forward – to do what, Agron could only imagine. The only thing that stopped him from actually completing his apparent suicide mission was Spartacus’ arm blocking his way again and sending him stumbling back against the wall.

Agron could hear Crixus chuckling beside him but couldn’t spare him a glare, too busy glaring at the boy who in turn was busy looking offended, rubbing the back of his head that had taken the brunt of his interaction with the wood paneling behind him.

“Yeah, have fun with that one, man,” Crixus said with a dry smile.

Spartacus was still looking too pleased with himself, and Agron rolled his eyes and gave a resigned sigh.

“Come on then, or do I have to put you on a leash first,” he said over his shoulder as he started towards the front door, never bothering to look back to check if the boy was following.

 

* * *

 

He let a grateful Pete out of the car and then continued his way across the lot and towards his shop, flipping his keys idly in his hand as he walked. He could hear footsteps on the gravel behind him, and was willing to take that as confirmation of the company he was now being forced to keep.

“A Rottweiler? Really? Could you be a bigger cliché if you tried?”

Agron glanced back at the young man following in his trail, somehow feeling too surprised by the burst of attitude to find it in himself to get as riled up as he knew he should have been.

“Cliché?” That was a fancy-ass word from someone who didn’t look like he’d spent a day in school.

“Y’know, with the biker gear and the gun halfway down your jeans and the eagle ink and...this.” He waved his hand towards the front of the repair shop. “I mean...come on.”

They came to a stop by the padlocked garage door that Agron wordlessly proceeded to open. It started to roll up haltingly with its familiar, loud clatter, and once it had made a good foot off the ground, Pete was already quickly sneaking in, getting away from the sun.

“It’s my brother’s,” Agron said as he followed the dog inside, ducking his head under the door that had stuck two thirds of the way up, “the Rottweiler, that is.” A souvenir from a dog fight they had once accidentally stumbled upon and who Duro had patched up and insisted he’d keep, giving Spartacus a run for his money for the title of biggest sucker around. Agron bit back a scoff at the memory.

He gave the rusty door a final push, knowing that it would give in eventually. It always did. He then ran his hand over the light switches by the door, and the harsh fluorescent lights overhead flickered into life one by one.

It wasn’t the largest of garages, but big enough – about the same size as the one his father had owned back home. Although it had to be said that the extra tires and other shit accrued over the years were beginning to make it a little too cluttered to Agron’s liking. It was clearly due a spring clean soon, if he could only find the time. August was looking promising.

There were spots for two cars on the floor – one of them empty, the other one occupied by Crixus’ Camaro – and a small space for Duro’s old Harley. The bike was a forever project his brother had started when they had first moved here and was yet to finish. But he would. One day.

“So, your brother works here, too?”

It took Agron a moment to gain his footing again, though thankfully the pause didn’t last long enough for the other one to notice.

“Yeah,” he said simply, realizing that his voice was starting to sound too rough for his own good, “he does.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he pushed himself off the doorframe. “Okay, that’s enough of this chit-chat bullshit, kid. We got work to do.”

He had made it to the middle of the shop floor, when he heard the already familiar snippy voice behind him again.

“Tib.”

He frowned and turned back to look at the boy, and apparently his face was enough of a question mark, because the explanation followed without further prompt.

“My name's Tib, short for Tiburcio.”

“Mexican, huh?”

“Something like that,” he answered with a shrug, but then his frown quickly turned into a scowl again. “And I’m not your kid.”

And somehow, despite everything that had gone on that morning, despite yesterday and the hospital and Mira, despite the fact that he was now saddled with getting attitude from this little punk ass for the rest of the day, Agron only found himself amused by the stubborn irritation in the younger man’s voice. And before he knew it he was already fighting a smile.

“Well, I should fucking hope you’re not,” he replied, turning around on his heels to continue his way to the storage at the back, “or your mother has some explaining to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

“A motion for an interim property dispute resolution on the grounds of suspected illegal activity.” Donar looked up from the paper and frowned, scratching his chin. “Another one? We might have to start thinking about moving stock.”

“At least Laeta will be happy. She’ll be able to retire off of this bullshit before soon,” Agron said and scowled into his glass of Walker as he leaned back in his seat. “And all the while that piece of shit keeps laughing at us like this was some fucking game.”

_A game that got people killed. A game that left people lying in a hospital room for the rest of their lives._

“So, why’s Batiatus doing this? He doesn’t really want that piece of land, does he? It’s not worth piss and shit and the old warehouse even less so.”

Agron glanced up from his drink to look at his friend on the other side of the booth. He was looking worse for wear tonight, evidently Agron wasn’t the only one who had been losing sleep lately. Although it looked like in Donar’s case the reason most likely was booze and too many cheap dates on his rota rather than late nights on the job.

Agron was glad that clingy women at least were the one problem in this life he could easily avoid. Opting for men instead of what’s-her-names came with its own baggage in their world of gun carrying, oversensitive and overwhelmingly prevalent heterosexuality, but at least Agron’s hookups rarely overstayed their welcome.

He shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s the same old shit, trying to keep us busy so that we won’t interfere with whatever’s going on with him and Glaber. After that pathetic attempt at trying to pay the Aryans to smoke us out, now we’re being drowned in fucking legalese. I guess it pays up when one of you is next in line to be a state senator.” He let out a shallow laugh. “No doubt we’ll be hearing from the feds next, I’m sure there’s a RICO case brewing somewhere.”

“And Spartacus?” Donar asked as he dropped the folder on the table and reached for his drink. “Hasn’t this been going long enough, when are we gonna fight back?”

Agron downed the rest of his whisky and bit back a sigh. “He’s too busy saving the world as usual. But now that this nonsense with Crixus is finally over, we’re gonna get back on track. I’m done dodging bullets, it’s time to be shooting some back.”

“And you’re sure it’s...over?” The older man looked at him with a doubtful frown.

“Crixus is a stubborn ass, but even he must’ve gotten the memo by now. The girl’s dead, time to move on.” Agron shot Donar a bitter smile. “Remind me again, why do people keep saying falling in love is a good thing?”

Donar shrugged and met Agron’s dark grin with his own. “Beats me.”

Their taste in genders may have differed, but their attitude towards relationships had always been the same: too much bullshit for no discernable gain, at least none that Agron had ever come across.

He got up and gestured towards their empty glasses. “Same again? Or should I just bring over the bottle?”

Donar nodded along to both suggestions, and Agron started towards the bar, instinctively reaching in his back pocket for his wallet as he walked. He stopped on his feet when he came up empty. He patted the other one, just in case, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t be there, either. He closed his eyes and hissed a curse between his teeth.

_That little shit._

* * *

Agron kept rummaging through his desk, lifting up stacks of papers and moving around empty cans of engine oil and car wax. So far, he had found a half-eaten Snickers bar and a packet of condoms someone had left lying about, but not his wallet. Not that that came as a big surprise, he had a fairly good idea where it would be – probably halfway down to L.A. by now. He let out another string of curses under his breath as he leaned heavily over the table and berated himself for his stupidity. He was not supposed to be the kind of guy who gets pickpocketed for god’s sake. That honor was reserved for out-of-towners and drunken college kids only.

Suddenly, the roll-up door he had opened half-way squeaked behind him, and Agron turned around quickly, gun in hand, only to find a familiar lithe figure now standing inside the doorway. It took him a minute to shake off the surprise before he let out a breath and slowly lowered the gun next to him on the desk top.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” the younger man started, his eyes still trained on the gun, “I was waiting outside and I saw the light, and–”

“I’m guessing you’ve got something that belongs to me,” Agron interrupted curtly with a nod of his head towards Tib’s hand.

“Yeah,” he said, turning the wallet around in his hand for a moment before slowly walking over to where Agron was standing. He stopped a few feet short of the desk

“It’s all there.”

Agron reached out, but then, instead of taking the wallet, he bypassed the hand completely and grabbed the boy’s wrist and swiftly yanked him off balance. Their size difference was significant enough that Agron then easily turned him around and manhandled him so that Tib finally ended up bent over the desk, the side of his face jammed against the top and his arm twisted behind his back. Agron pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple and leaned over him.

“Now, you listen to me, kid,” he growled in his ear, “I don’t know what Batiatus thinks he’s getting out of sending a street rat here to snoop around, but I will tell you right now, whatever it is, it ain’t gonna work.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Agron pushed the steel deeper into the skin and cocked the hammer. “Don’t fucking try. You better tell me what the fuck is going on here and do it now. I’m done playing around.”

“I came to return your wallet,” Tib said, sounding a little too defiant to Agron’s liking. “I’m not here on anybody else’s business, and I don’t know who this Badias person is, alright?”

“Batiatus,” Agron corrected.

“Well, I still don’t know him.”

Agron sneered to himself. There was only so much bullshit he was willing to eat in one day.

“And so you just came back because of...what? Guilty conscience?” He scoffed. “Spare me.”

Silence dragged on until he heard the boy take a deep breath.

“Listen, if you’re not going to shoot me right now, could you then at least pull back the gun a little. It’s kinda scary to be honest.”

“It’s a gun, it’s supposed to scare you,” Agron snapped back, but then lifted it off the kid’s head anyway. He then released Tib’s arm and took a step back, gun in one hand and his wallet in the other. He peeked inside.

“It’s all there.”

Agron counted the money and the cards anyway, before he finally closed the wallet and shoved it back in his pocket. Where he intended to keep it this time. The other man was about to say something else, but Agron cut him off before he had time to start.

“This morning you fed me some sob story about how you owed your boss money and if you didn’t pay him he’d have your head.”

“That’s w–”

Agron put up his hand to stop him. “And so you break into the clubhouse. Fine. Stupid but fine. Then you steal my wallet. Okay, I get it, you’re desperate and need the money, at least it’s consistent. But this here...It makes no sense, unless there’s something else you’re not telling me. Which brings us back to your boss.”

“It’s not Batiatus. I honestly have never heard that name before.”

“Then who is it?

The other man took another deep breath before answering.

“Jones Días. But he didn’t send me here or anything. I was just looking for money and you were on my way.”

Días definitely wasn’t what Agron was expecting to hear. A smalltime wanna-be drug lord with a hankering for snuff films and high-stakes gambling – not exactly a household name, at least around these parts. Either the kid had really done his homework on his backstory or he was...telling the truth?

Agron perched himself on the desk top and crossed his arms, tapping the barrel of his gun idly against his bicep.

“Okay, so just for the sake of argument, let’s say I’d believe you on that. Still doesn’t explain what the fuck you’re doing giving the money _back_ to me.”

“Maybe I just realized I didn’t want you guys banging on my door at three in the morning. I’d rather deal with Jones.”

Agron shook his head. “We’d break your bones; he’d break your neck. You wouldn’t risk that.” The more Tib kept dancing around the answers, the more intrigued Agron became. Why _was_ he here?

“Why _are_ you here, Tib?”

“Does it matter? You’re not gonna believe me anyway.”

“Try me.”

“I didn’t want to steal from you, okay? After today, I just realized I couldn’t do that. Didn’t _want_ to do that _._ ”

Agron’s eyebrow rose in his least credulous look, and so the other man continued after taking in yet another breath.

“Spartacus giving me that chance this morning...that was so...”

“Stupid?”

Tib’s brows knitted together, but he carried on despite the interruption. “It was _strange_. I mean, who does that?”

Agron had a few words in mind but he bit his tongue and let the other man continue.

“And I just kept waiting for the catch, you know? Waiting for someone to walk around the corner and beat me up or lock me in the basement or...just shove a gun in my face.” He gave a pointed look towards Agron’s hand, but Agron kept his face deadpan.

“I honestly didn’t expect to just work all day and then...nothing. Just, ‘adios kid’ and be done with it.”

“Spartacus likes to keep his word.”

“Well, yeah... And I guess I figured it out a little late, but I realized I could always take that money from some actual shitheads out there, it doesn’t have to be from you.”

“Sounding like a true upstanding citizen,” Agron interjected, ignoring the scowl sent his way and giving the other man a chance to catch his breath; for someone who had started off so reluctant to speak, Tib was now doing a mile a minute. “Though, I guess to be fair, I should at least give you credit for actually coming back and not just throwing my wallet over the fence.”

“I thought you...well...” Tib hesitated and then cringed visibly, “...deserved that. Deserved to have a chance and beat me up or whatever. Get things even. If that’s what you need to do.” He cringed a little more when he looked at Agron again and then let out a nervous laugh. “I mean you don’t _have_ to, just...y’know...you can.”

He sighed again, even deeper this time, and Agron scratched the back of his neck confused. If the boy was spinning a line then he was doing one hell of a job of it. He should make a living out of _that,_ not be a slave to an overweight Colombian with mental issues.

“And it’s just that...when we were talking earlier, about my deal with the money and everything, you said something about how stupid it is that I let someone have that kind of control over my life. That it may be convenient and shit to depend on someone else for everything, but it’s no _life_. Not really.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So it kind of stuck with me. That you’d rather be on the streets but be your own boss than forced to do stuff you didn’t want to for someone else, even if it meant he paid your rent and bought you expensive shit. And so I thought that maybe if I could just be a little more like you and a little less like me, then...”

“You wouldn’t stay too long on the street, man. You’re smarter than that; you’d be running the show in no time.”

The sudden bout of earnestness seemed to come as much of a surprise to Tib as it did to Agron himself.

“You really mean that?”

“Jesus Christ...”

When had this turned into a pep-talk situation? Agron should have been in the middle of beating the boy up to teach him a lesson, not doing...this. Whatever this was. He ran his hand through his short hair and sighed.

“Look, there’s no reason you can’t do whatever the fuck you wanna do with your life if you give yourself the chance and stop messing about with shit like Días.”

“Because a gutter rat like me is so employable, huh?” Tib said quietly and then gave a short, bitter laugh, putting Agron’s own bitch face to shame. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, as long as it’s dealing smack or flipping burgers.”

Agron didn’t feel the need to respond, only raised his eyebrows and soon the kid deflated before his eyes, his attitude this time nothing more than hot air.

“Yeah, maybe I should just face it. Días is my best bet for a paycheck around here.”

The one-eighty was so sudden, it left Agron staring at him with his brows permanently hiked to his hairline. “Tib...”

“Nasir.”

And now Agron was only growing even more confused by the second.

“That’s my name,” the younger man continued, “Nasir. Not Tib.” He sighed and scratched his brow with the side of his hand. “Nasir Abdul-Hakim.”

“That doesn’t sound very Mexican.”

“No? How about Syrian?”

That was enough to make Agron cringe without thinking, and Tib – well, Nasir – gave him another bitter smile.

“Exactly,” he said, “if you think being Mexican is hard around here, try living on the street with _that_ hanging over your head.”

“And Días knows?”

Nasir nodded. “It was all his idea. He needed me for a job but couldn’t hire a Syrian so...he thought I would pass. And he was right, I did. I seem to pass for a lo–”

He stopped abruptly and quickly looked away from Agron's face.

“Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. It's not your problem.” He was staring at the floor now and almost to the point where he would be shuffling his feet. “You’re being nicer than you should. I really expected you to be using that by now.” He pointed at the gun still dangling from Agron’s fingers and then pushed some stray strands of hair away from his face and finally glanced up at Agron with a hesitant smile. “Don’t tell me. There’s still time for that, huh?”

Agron kept looking back at him for a long moment in silence. And then went against every instinct he’d ever had. He flipped the gun around in his hand and put it down on the table.

“How much do you still owe?”

Nasir’s head snapped up again and he frowned. “Why?”

“How much?”

“Three hundred. But why–”

Agron opened his wallet and took out the three bills. He folded them and handed them over. Nasir kept staring at his outreached hand for what seemed like forever but didn’t make an effort to move. Finally, his eyes found Agron’s again and his lips curled into an unbecoming sneer.

“Thanks man, but I don’t do charity.”

“Neither do I,” Agron answered evenly and gave the money between his fingers a little shake. “Take it. I need you to be alive for later.”

The boy still didn’t move, but at least his scowl had mellowed back into a frown.

“Alive for what?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Nasir’s attention kept flitting between Agron’s face and the money, until it finally settled back on Agron. He shook his head, but it wasn’t the angry refutation from before; it seemed oddly cold and detached. Businesslike.

“I’m not doing that anymore,” he said quietly. “I haven’t for a while now. I mean, thanks and all, but no thanks. I’ll scrape up the money some other way.”

Agron had to briefly close his eyes, the sudden ugly twist in his gut taking him by surprise. He sighed. Long and deep.

“That’s not what I was talking about.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post these chapters yesterday as well, but then life happened. So have them now instead.
> 
> And thanks for reading, folks. Always appreciated :)

 

“A job? Here? Is he even old enough to drive?”

Agron pulled himself from under the car and sat up, reaching out for a rag to clean his hands with. He looked up at Donar who was leaning back against the side of the Mustang staring at him like he had suddenly grown a second head. Agron sighed.

“The kid’s nineteen. And it’s not like I’m exactly overstaffed here as it is, with Nemetes inside and Crixus hogging all the prospects. I could do with the help.” He scrambled to his feet and kept cleaning the wrench with the hem of his shirt. “You can blame Spartacus if you want. He started it.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to make the same mistake,” the other man shot back, “Might as well be putting up a sign out front saying 'all strays and ferals welcome'.”

Donar kept shaking his head as he went on, “I leave you alone for one weekend and you go and fucking lose your mind. Don’t you have enough to deal with without having to worry about some little shit robbing you blind every time you’re not looking?”

At that point, the backdoor opened and Nasir walked in, wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing for the last three days. Agron assumed it was the only clothes he owned now that he’d lost Días’ money train – and his apartment and its wardrobe. The boy was carrying a cardboard box nearly half his size and shut the door behind him with his foot and turned to Agron, but the smile on his face faded quickly when he looked over Agron’s shoulder and saw Donar in his skull cap and cut.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

Agron was quick to cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Might as well get the two of you introduced now that you’re staying on.” He gave Donar a pointed look and received a shrug for his trouble.

“Donar here is an old patch-over. Even older than me, but I guess that’s clear from the gut alone.” He anticipated the flipped finger and smiled innocently in return. “Been handling the fights with me now that Crixus has been...otherwise occupied.” He scoffed, never missing the opportunity to make it clear how he felt about that particular subject, and Donar responded in much the same vein with a grim shake of his head.

Agron tried to shake off the frustration once again itching under his skin at the thought of their VP and quickly forced on another smile. “Also, no matter what I tell him, this fucker insists on abusing the clutch on his Dyna, which makes him a recurring customer. So, better start getting used to his ugly mug, you will be seeing him a lot around here.”

“Fuck you man, it’s not my fault she’s being fickle.”

Looking gravely offended, Donar turned to Nasir for validation. Apparently, criticizing one’s driving skills was enough to change even the most deeply held allegiances.

“Don’t listen to him. I ride a bike like I love a woman, gentle and slow with an expert’s touch.” He emphasized his point with an informative hand gesture in the air.

“More like rough and heavy-handed and only for short periods at a time,” Agron said in return. He winked at Nasir and was pleased when he saw the other man stifle a grin.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Donar muttered.

Agron turned to him, expecting something a little stronger in return, but all he got back was a weird look that he didn’t know what to do with. And then Donar was already addressing the man still standing by the back door.

“Well, it was good to meet you...” He left the end hanging in the air for Nasir to finish, but it took him some time to catch on, as his attention was still hovering somewhere around Agron’s general vicinity.

“Uh, right...uh...Nasir,” he said, once Donar finally caught his eye.

“Okay, then,” Donar chuckled, “Good meeting you, uh-Nasir.”

“Yes...I mean, you too.” He gave a feeble smile that wasn’t exactly bolstered by the shit eating grin he received in return. “I’ll just go and put these...away.” He turned away awkwardly and started towards the shelves in the corner.

Once Nasir had walked out of earshot, Donar’s attention turned back to Agron.

“Okay, okay...” He held his hands up and finally offered Agron a slow smile. “Fine, I get it, man. But remember, when the shit hits the fan, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Now it was Agron’s time to frown in confusion. “You get what?”

Donar snorted and cast another look towards the corner where Nasir was now bent over the box on the floor, reaching for something inside. Agron idly followed his line of sight and the view had him smiling to himself for the briefest moment, before he had the presence of mind to control the reaction.

“Look, you’re not the first guy around here making decisions with his dick. Just watch your back.” Donar paused for a chuckle. “Or his. Whatever. Just don’t get burned.”

If it had been anyone else, they would have been tasting blood by now, but he and Donar went back far enough for Agron not to bother. He huffed out a laugh instead.

“He’s barely out of diapers, man. Now I’m no saint, but for fuck’s sake, I don’t do _teenagers_.” He might not have had that many strict preferences when it came to sex or men, but going for guys who at least were above drinking age might as well be one of them.

Donar folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the car; the leather of his vest squeaked faintly against the polished paintwork.

“Considering all the shit we’ve pulled, I don’t think fucking 19-year-olds will be highest on our list of sins, my friend. Actually, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t even make the cut.”

Ignoring Donar’s reasonings, Agron cast one last look at the kid – and that’s what he was, a _kid_ , Agron better keep reminding himself of that – before he took Donar’s shoulder and started ushering him towards the door.

“So, about that clutch...”

They had just walked outside, when he noticed the black, greasy handprint he had left on Donar’s pale t-shirt. And then he grinned a little wider.


	5. Chapter 5

“That is one ugly-ass bike.”

Donar ignored Agron’s chiding hand slapping him on the chest and only kept on chuckling as they both took a better look at the rat bike propped up against the wall.

“Well, it is.”

“It’s also cheap,” Nasir said with a scowl, although it was hard to say whether the furrowed brow was directed at Agron, Donar or the bike. Or the balance on his freshly opened bank account.

“No kidding.”

“It is his first one, man,” Agron reasoned. “No point in bleeding through the nose for a Harley when all you’re gonna do is trash it the next day.”

Still, to be fair, Donar was right. It was a fucking ugly bike.

Agron walked closer and crouched down, gingerly nudging one of the tires, only half-afraid something might fall off. “Ever ridden before?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Agron snorted and looked back over his shoulder. “And this would be the time to tell the truth. Unless you really want us to be scraping off your remains from the tarmac in the next five minutes or so.”

The stare held for a moment and Agron watched the younger man’s shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath and then let the air out slowly. “No. I haven’t. Not really.”

Agron got back up to his feet and ran his fingers along the torn leather seat and over the rusty chrome of the handlebars. He honestly had better things to do with his free time than moonlighting as a driving instructor.

Honestly, he had.

“Then I guess we’ll have to start with the basics.”

  


* * *

  


Agron let Pete go first before he walked in after him, shoving the garage keys back in his pocket as he closed the door behind him and looked around the club room. It seemed to be a quiet evening in, as Crixus had most of the guys on the road on a job. The only ones left were Rhaskos who was schooling a prospect at the pool table and Spartacus who was sitting by himself at the bar, staring absently into a shot glass of whiskey.

Someone had turned on the old jukebox; it was playing Leroy Brown.

Suddenly Pete’s attention was drawn to the sofa in the corner and he scurried over, eliciting a yelp from his poor victim, who was sitting there cross-legged, a laptop perched over his lap. Agron smiled to himself, but decided to leave well enough alone and headed towards the bar instead.

“So, is this your plan now, I pay their salary, but they still work for you all day?” Agron asked as he pulled himself a stool and sat down.

Spartacus huffed out a laugh and then, without waiting to be prompted, poured Agron a shot of whiskey too. “Sorry about that, but it just seemed like a shame to interrupt his flow. Apparently there was a backdoor left open that we have now used to gain access to the main server and to the log-in database.” He cringed at the words. “Or something to that effect at least, I might have missed some of the details.”

“I guess it was worth taking that chance with him today after all,” Agron said, smirking over the rim of his glass, but the smile faded as he took a better look at other man’s face. “But enough about Nasir, what are you still doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be going out with Mira tonight?”

Spartacus gave him a sideways look. “If we’re going to talk about missed appointments, weren’t you supposed to go and see her today at the hospital?”

Agron raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Point taken.”

Jim Croce’s voice faded out and then some schmaltzy keyboard intro started playing on the overhead speakers. Agron turned abruptly towards the jukebox at the back, scowling at Rhaskos who just grinned widely in return, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing. Then again, Crixus had taught him well on the subject of “things-that-piss-Agron-off-more-than-anything-else”, and cheesy music would always be high on the list. That and vegans. And cats. And...

Yes, well...It was a pretty long list.

“Tasteless fuck,” Agron grumbled and Spartacus snorted, patting him sympathetically on the back before reaching for the Bushmills again.

“I was thinking about making this deal with Nasir a more permanent thing, actually,” he said then as he topped up their glasses. “Nothing too elaborate, just an odd job here and there, but the boy would earn a bit of extra money and the club would get a much needed tech guy for more or less a regular basis. What do you think?”

Agron glanced over at the man still sitting in the corner, his computer now balanced precariously on top of the dog’s back.

“You’d let him in here without a patch? I thought we had rules for that.”

Spartacus scratched his beard and frowned in his drink.

“Rules are all well and good, but not when we’re sitting on a ton of intel and have no way to use it without a hacker. Barca’s out of the picture for now, and who knows if he’ll ever come back.” He sighed and the lines on his forehead deepened further. “We’re in elbows deep with everything from Glaber to the Russians and I really don’t see why we should wait for the kid to prospect for a year just so that we could use him for this one thing. He doesn’t need a cut to work that computer.”

“And you really trust him enough? I get you were desperate today with the whole system crashing down on you, but...”

“ _You_ trust him, don’t you?”

“Well, sure...”

“And you are the least trusting person I know, Agron. That tells me all that I need to know.”

Agron shrugged and downed the rest of his shot. It wasn’t like he was going to object. Not only did he think it would be good for the club, but he knew Nasir was smart, and if this would give him a chance to prove himself – to himself or anybody else – then who was Agron to stop him.

“So I’ll put it up for a vote on Sunday,” Spartacus continued. “That is, if you think you’ll be fine with the arrangement?”

“I think I’m the wrong person to ask,” Agron said, nodding his head in Nasir’s direction.

“Right. Of course.” Spartacus finished his drink and poured them both another, drumming his fingers on the bottle for a moment. “But you _are_ sure it wouldn’t cause a problem?”

Agron scratched his head as he kept silently running through all the possible scenarios. “Well, the shop is running pretty tight staff-wise, but doing what’s best for the club is always the priority, you know that. And we all do double duty around here anyway, so I don’t see why Nasir–”

“Whatever is going on between you and him, I mean.”

Half of Agron’s drink found its way down his windpipe, and he ended coughing it up in a less than elegant manner while simultaneously badly attempting to disguise the reaction. Not that he was fooling anybody.

“Spartacus...”

“You know I’m not saying this to judge. I just need to know that if I get him to work for the club, it wouldn’t be a distraction. For anybody. God knows we don’t need any more of those around here.”

“Nothing’s going on, man.”

Spartacus held the stare for a moment, until he seemed to deem Agron’s response adequate.

“Fair enough.” He turned towards the corner and snapped his fingers a few times to get the younger man’s attention. “Hey Nasir, come over for a second, I need to run something by you.”


	6. Chapter 6

He heard the strings of curses coming from the storeroom and smiled to himself even before he had walked in. And when he did walk in, he smiled even wider.

“Need a hand?”

Nasir turned around abruptly, nearly toppling over from his perch before he got a hold of the shelving for support. His look of surprise quickly turned into a glare when he met Agron’s smirk.

“...Or, I dunno, maybe a foot...or two?”

“Fuck off.”

Agron tutted. “You might want to rein in this whole cursing-out-your-boss-thing, you know.”

“And you might rein in the height jokes, you know,” Nasir shot back. “Anyway, I wouldn’t have to be doing this if your stupid-ass ladder wasn’t too short.”

Agron bit the side of his mouth to keep himself from grinning. Too widely. “And you’re sure it’s the ladder that’s too short?”

The other man, who was still barely balancing himself on the DIY table-crate combination, turned his back on him. “Just go away, I’ll get down on my own.”

“No, you won’t,” Agron said as he finally walked closer. “Look, I’m sorry about the jokes,” he continued appeasingly, doing his best to keep his expression in check, “I’ll help you down and won’t say another word, okay?”

It took Nasir another minute, until he grudgingly faced Agron again. He had his lower lip stuck out in a pout that honestly looked too adorable for his own good. Or Agron’s.

“If you tell any of the guys about this I will fucking kill you in your sleep.”

Agron shook his head but refrained from commenting further on what he thought of as Nasir’s ridiculous hang-ups about his height. And he definitely refrained from thinking about how the other man would get into his bedroom in the middle of the night to carry out the threat. Or what else they could do there instead.

Nasir scrambled down on the edge of the crate and Agron stood under it reaching out his arms.

“Alright, then. I’ll catch you.”

“I’m not a child, and I could also do without the ass grabbing, okay?”

Agron answered with an eye-roll; his good humor from a minute ago was quickly starting to wear thin.

“Yes, because groping prospects is obviously my favorite method of sexual contact.” But before Nasir had time to reply to that, Agron dropped down his arms and turned around anyway. “Look, whatever, just get on my back then.”

He felt Nasir climbing on hesitantly, arms around his shoulders, feet sliding down his back. The man had clearly filled out in the past couple of weeks, enough that his newly acquired build was now almost feeling a little on the heavy side for an impromptu piggyback ride. But even so, he was still getting down perfectly smoothly, until right at the last minute, when his grip on Agron’s shoulder slipped and in his panic he wrapped his legs tight around Agron’s waist. But the position he was in unfortunately meant that he also ended up jamming the heel of his boot square into Agron’s groin.

Agron doubled over with a howl, grabbing the inflicted area as Nasir slid off of him over his head. He managed to land on his feet, but to be fair, at that point Agron couldn’t really care less this way or that way.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Agron croaked out, “Not like I was planning on using that anymore anyway.” Nasir chuckled and Agron did his best to glare at him while still doubled over and groaning. “Next time we’re just gonna go with the ass grabbing without you giving me shit, okay?”

“Uh...What’s going on here, or do I even want to know?”

Mira came in from the side door wearing a deep scowl. Probably writing up the assault charges in her head as she walked, Agron thought darkly.

“Are you okay?” And as expected, the words were directed at Nasir not Agron.

“He’s fine,” Agron answered for him, “he’s not the one kicked in the groin now is he?” He then gingerly straightened his back, happy that at least nothing was dropping off as of yet. “So, what’s up with you?”

She had million reasons to be here, reasons other than Duro; but still, seeing her always tightened that one particular knot in his stomach, and he would rather get that possibility out there sooner rather than later.

“Spartacus wants to see you,” she said, but she was still keeping her eye on Nasir.

Agron didn’t try to further defend himself against the scenario he was sure the woman was picturing in her head, nor did he say anything about how Spartacus only seemed to be using her as his secretary nowadays. He only nodded instead.

“Fine.”

He left the other two behind and limped out the main door, but just as he had turned the corner, he realized he had left his keys inside. So, he spun on his heels and was about to walk in again when the discussion inside stopped him in his tracks.

“...and you’re sure you’re okay? I know Agron can be a bit difficult to handle sometimes, I hope he knows not to cross the line.”

A beat of silence followed, long enough to give Agron the time to think about strangling her. But then that thought was replaced with something else when he heard Nasir’s airy laugh echoing from the concrete and corrugated iron.

“He’s perfectly fine to handle. And he’d never do shit like that anyway. He’s not the type, you should know that.”

“Then what was all that about...really?”

“My own fault for being such a fucking stump. I was on the table trying to reach the top shelf, and when he helped me down I literally landed wrong and hit his...you know....” He made a whistling sound and then Agron could finally hear Mira laughing along.

“I have to say, I still don’t understand how you can keep working with him voluntarily,” the woman continued, sounding like she was still chuckling to herself, “I’m sure I’d kill myself after the first day. And him, too, most likely.”

“Really? Come on, he’s not _that_ bad. I mean, like a huge ass, sure, but...”

And then it was Nasir who was laughing again, and Agron got a bitter reminder of why eavesdropping was never the best idea. But it was only when Nasir continued that Agron remembered why it was the worst.

“He just makes me laugh, you know? We have fun. And I honestly never thought I’d be back after the first day, but now I look forward to coming here more times than not. And that’s saying something after all the assholes I’ve worked for before.” He paused for two seconds. “Okay...shit... Just please, don’t tell him any of that. If he found out I actually like him, I’d never hear the end of it.”

At that point, Agron decided that he didn’t need his keys that bad if all he was doing was just talking to Spartacus; he could always pick them up afterwards.

And later, when Spartacus shot him a long look and asked what exactly was so funny about the quarter budget, he really didn’t have an answer to give.


	7. Chapter 7

  
  


“Fuck it, I’m in.” Donar was frowning but dug up the bills anyway and threw them on the table over the pile of money already there, accrued over hours of more or less successful playing.

“Crixus?” Spartacus kept tapping his fingers idly against his cards as he waited for the answer.

The burly Canadian kept his face unreadable as he glanced down at his hand one last time and then slid over the needed money. Beside him, Mira soon did the same.

Agron rocked his chair onto its back legs and scratched the back of his neck as he kept watching the others still present around the table. The game was slowly winding down along with its players and the whiskey. Surprisingly, Crixus seemed to be the one going home with the money tonight, with Mira as a close second – usually, it was the other way around. The only completely unsurprising fact was that Agron would be bringing up the rear once again.

Why it always ended like that was a complete mystery to him. He was good enough at reading people to be better at it than this, especially on a night when he had only had one beer and the rest of them had nearly finished off a Bushmills or two between them.

Take this particular hand, for instance. Agron could easily tell by Donar’s scowl that he didn’t have anything better than a king high; he just was too stubborn to fold. Crixus’ face was carved out of stone, but he always scratched his beard like that when he had a winning hand, so he was nursing a full-house or more. Spartacus never put money on any hand under a trips, and Mira kept twirling her hair which meant she was bluffing like there was no tomorrow.

Knowing what the others were carrying was not the problem, knowing what the fuck to do with his own hand was. And actually getting a decent one even once in a blue moon wouldn’t have gone amiss either. In fact, his bad luck in that department was such a common occurrence that he wasn’t even able to bluff his way out of it anymore.

“Agron?”

He looked back down at his hand. He might as well be playing Uno.

“Fold.”

He watched Crixus snicker at him across the table and shot him a look.

“Hey, no use hating on me, Wiener schnitzel,” the man said as he once again cleared the table after a winning hand. “If you don’t have what it takes then stop playing with the big boys; I’m sure we can whip out the Monopoly set for you one night, right guys?”

The front legs of Agron’s chair hit the floor loud enough to even wake up Brictius who had nodded off on the couch in the corner.

“Wiener schnitzel?”

“See, I’m expanding my vernacular, brother,” Crixus said and smirked. “You got to admit it has a nice ring to it. Though I guess your ma was more into cooking tamales, right?”

Agron got up to his feet quickly, spooking out a prospect who had chosen that moment to come and empty the ashtray from the table. He slinked back to where he came from as Agron kept glowering at the man sitting opposite from him.

“Jesus Christ not again,” Mira sighed, but Agron ignored her.

“Fucking dipshit. At least when I gamble I do it with my own fucking money, not with the future of the club like some assholes around here. And you can fucking leave my mother out of this from now on if you prefer to keep your head attached to your neck.”

Crixus was half-up from his seat at that point, but Spartacus stopped him at the last minute by grabbing his shoulder. “Look, could we maybe get through one game without it turning into a pissing match between you two, please.”

Agron remained standing while Crixus sat back down heavily on his chair, running his hand through his hair.

“I was just trying to help. It ain’t my fault this fucker can’t see he’s useless at the table and just wasting his time and money. I mean, even that boy of his would do better.” He then turned to Agron with a fake smile. “Maybe you should have him play your next hand, eh?”

Agron was about to respond, but stopped and looked over to the bar where Nasir was clearing the counter. He caught the younger man’s eye and paused there for a moment and then turned back to the table again, once he was sure he was able to keep his expression in check.

“You know, maybe I should.” It was time to make the best use of his poker face. “You guys wouldn’t mind?”

The rest of the table looked back at him like he’d finally lost his mind.

“What the fuck, man?” Donar asked with widening eyes. “You’d let the kid piss away what little’s left of your money?”

Agron shrugged. “Maybe the maple fucker has a point. Nasir couldn’t do any worse than I’m already doing, right? Beginner’s luck and all that shit.”

Spartacus’ brows furrowed but Crixus only grinned wider and leaned back on his chair with hands laced behind his head. “Really got you by the balls this one, doesn’t he?” He chuckled. “Alright then, let’s see what the boy can do, other than the obvious, apparently.”

Agron’s fist clenched at his side – his automatic reaction to most of the words that came out of the VP’s mouth. But for once he decided to concentrate on the end game rather than instant gratification and left it at that, flexing his fingers and then crooking one of them at Nasir.

“Hey, get yourself over here before this shitface finally talks himself a black eye.” He kept his tone even and smiled as amicably as he possibly could, his eyes never leaving Crixus. Nasir complied but hesitated once he reached the table.

“Are you sure...”

Agron stepped away from his chair and sat him down on it. “Just do your best,” he said patting him reassuringly on his shoulder, “It’ll be fine.”

Agron flumped down on the couch beside Brictius, declining the offered joint with a small smile and a shake of his head; he wanted to keep a clear head for this.

It started off slow, but by the third hand, as expected, Nasir had the others bleeding money like pigs in a slaughterhouse, and it didn’t take him much longer until it was already game over.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I gotta say, I feel a little bad about doing that,” Nasir said as he looked down at the wad of cash in his hand. The streetlight cast a shadow on his face but it wasn’t hard to imagine he was frowning.

“Don’t,” Agron chuckled, “They got what was coming to them, trust me.”

The younger man raised his eyes to his and the frown between his brows deepened a little. “But still, you’re the only one I’ve told about Días and Vegas. Do you honestly think they would’ve let me play if they’d known?”

“Their own fault then for not taking a vetted interest in a fellow human being before tonight.”

Finally, he saw Nasir crack a smile. “And that’s what you’re doing?”

Agron answered with a grin. “I can’t help being such a people person, now can I?” He didn’t wait for an answer but patted the man’s arm and signaled at his hand. “Now pocket that shit before you get mugged out here.”

“But...” His eyes darted between the money and Agron. “It’s your money, right?” He held out his hand, but Agron was quick to grab it and push it back.

“You won it, not me. It’s all yours.”

Nasir kept thumbing the notes in his hand.

“Look, you’re not just putting me on, right? You know I need it, so don’t lie.”

“I always tell the truth, kid. Even when I lie.”

“Wow, that was deep...”

Agron smiled and shrugged humbly.

“...Almost sounds like it should be a line in a movie.”

Silence fell and Nasir was looking at him funny, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. Agron in turn just blinked and stared, too surprised to even feel caught out. Somehow, he’d pegged Nasir to be more into something artsy and black and white.

“Right,” he answered, finally, and cleared his throat. “Well, great minds and all that...”

Their stare held for a second longer until Nasir finally broke the gaze – and whatever moment Agron was starting to imagine they were having – and looked back down at his hand.

“But really...wasn’t the money the whole point why you asked me to play?”

“Nah, man. I don’t care about the cash, just needed to see that smirk wiped off of Crixus’ face, that’s all.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Wiener schnitzel, for fuck’s sake...”

“Well, he isn’t smirking anymore.”

“No.” Agron returned Nasir’s smile and gestured towards his hand again. “So, keep it. Trust me, that game you pulled was worth every penny and more.”

Finally, it seemed the other man was ready to relent. But he still plucked three of the biggest bills from the bunch and then, before Agron had time to protest, proceeded to slip the notes into the front pocket of Agron’s jeans.

“And now we’re even,” he said, taking his time withdrawing the fingers. And Agron found himself suppressing a shiver – as if he was a fucking teenager getting fondled for the first time.

No. Fondled _by_ a teenager more like. And he cringed inwardly at the thought.

A gust of wind send hair flying in Nasir’s face and Agron looked away quickly, before he got any insane ideas about brushing the strands away himself. He spotted his Dyna at the curb and, thankful for the diversion, quickly started towards it, shoving his hands deep in his pockets to keep them at bay.

“Wanna ride?” he asked, turning around to face Nasir again, walking the remaining few steps backwards. “Could do with a little open road tonight to clear my head.”

The other man ambled up after him, wearing an expression Agron would have needed a manual to interpret.

“With me?”

There was something dangerously vulnerable in the question and it tugged Agron’s insides in all the wrong places. So he turned on the snark and squinted at him with a budding smirk. “Scared to try what riding a bike is really like? I mean, no offense, but I’ve seen you drive and my grandma would go faster. And she’s been dead for twenty years.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

But Nasir was smiling again which already was half the battle, and Agron knew a ‘yes’ wouldn’t be far behind. He watched the younger man grab his helmet from the handlebar of the ugly-ass thing Agron refused to call a bike and then do the same for Agron’s as well, handing it over.

“So, where are we riding?”

And there it was.

Agron grinned as he put on his helmet and mounted his bike. “Wherever you want to go.”


	8. Chapter 8

Nasir kept pushing the dog away, but he was undeterred and followed right at his heel all the way around the workbench. And once Nasir had made a full circle and stopped, Pete was already back to nudging his legs with his nose.

Agron snorted, earning himself a glare.

“Can you please tell this... _thing_ to stop following me around,” Nasir said as he jumped up to sit on the table next to where Agron was standing. Apparently he was thinking the extra height would do the trick, but the dog and his snout persisted.

“I think he likes you.”

Agron leaned back on the bench and did his best to hide another chuckle by taking a bite of his burger. Watching those two interact was the most fun he’d had in some time; he had no intention of putting a stop to it.

“Yeah, well I don’t like him.” Nasir tried to shove Pete away again with the sole of his sneaker, but the over 100 pounds of muscle barely budged and Nasir turned his glare away from Agron and back to the dog.

“I don’t like you, so stop following me around,” he hissed.

Pete made an unimpressed noise and rested his head in his lap. Nasir threw up his hands.

“I fucking give up.”

“You know, you could always try _not_ feeding him half your food, if you’re serious about getting rid of him,” Agron said evenly.

Nasir glanced at him, then at the empty sandwich wrapper in his own hand and then back at the dog. He sighed.

“It’s something about the eyes,” he muttered. “I don’t even want to do it, but it’s like I have no choice. Don’t you ever feel like that?”

“Never,” Agron answered resolutely and then wolfed down the rest of his burger in one go. “You have to show them who’s boss,” he continued in between chews, “You can’t just give in every time someone gives you puppy dog eyes. That way madness lies.”

He licked salt and grease off his fingers and was just about to reach for the water bottle, when he happened to look over to Nasir and found him staring back with a look Agron didn’t exactly know how to read.

“What? You know I’m right.”

“No, it’s not...uh...I mean, sorry, you’ve got a little...” His voice trailed off and he gestured somewhere in the direction of Agron’s lips, and finally Agron got the hint.

He searched out the offending smear with his tongue and then wiped his thumb over the smudge of mayo and proceeded to suck the finger clean. When he glanced at Nasir again, the expression on his face had somehow only gotten weirder; he looked like someone sitting on an ant nest. Agron was about to ask him what it was, when Donar suddenly appeared in the doorway, breaking the moment.

“We’ve got a problem, man.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Agron replied with a wry smile, but got to his feet anyway, crumbling the burger wrap in his fist and throwing it in the trash in the corner.

_He aims, he shoots, and he scores. And the crowd goes wild..._

“What is it?”

“Liscus is saying he’s backing out of the next fight.”

“What?” That wasn’t bad news; that was horrible news.

“Apparently Gutierrez’ reputation for ending dirty finally reached him and he’s just now remembered he has a wife and twins to go home to.” Donar rolled his eyes and Agron followed suit.

“What the fuck was he expecting then? It’s not a playdate it’s a fight.”

They may not have been death matches but it was still free fighting. It was bound to get ugly no matter who you fought; the point was to be the one who came out on top, then the rest wouldn’t matter.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Donar asked. “Pulling out of the fight now will fucking cost us.”

He wasn’t wrong. Their options were limited.

“D’you think they’d agree to us changing their opponent this late in the game?”

Donar frowned. “Who exactly do you have in mind? You don’t mean Tychos, do you?”

Agron scratched his chin in contemplation, but didn’t answer. “Nasir, think you can man the shop for a sec? Brictius and Rhaskos aren’t back ‘til noon.”

“Uh...sure, of course.”

“Okay. Donar, brief Crixus and then call Liscus and tell him to get his ass in here. I’ll talk to Salazar and see how he feels about a switcheroo.”

Agron grabbed Nasir’s shoulder as he walked past. The other man was wearing a tank top and the bare skin was warm under Agron’s hand.

“Thanks. And try not to kill Pete while I’m gone, this shouldn’t take too long.”

The touch lingered a fraction longer than it should have. Feeling burnt, Agron quickly patted Nasir’s arm and then finally started after Donar and out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone interested, the next update will probably happen around next weekend. And then maybe something might start happening plot-wise as well...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will be getting a little angstier for a while. Also, Lugo became Scottish for no good reason.

 

Agron ripped the end of the tape with his teeth and then flexed his fingers to test out the tightness.

“And you’re still sure about this?”

“We’re bleeding money already, Spartacus. I’m not gonna have us lose any more just because Liscus pissed his pants and went crying to mommy. We need this fight.”

Agron glanced over to the other man and saw that he was still wearing a deeper frown that he should have. “The concern warms the heart, man, but I’ve done this before, remember? I’m not gonna keel over and die from a black eye.”

While he was talking, he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the chair, and willfully ignored the way Nasir’s eyes briefly flicked over his bare torso. He couldn’t go down that road tonight or he’d never be back. And he had a fight to win.

Spartacus shook his head. “It’s not _your_ health I’m worried about,” he said in a dark tone, “You must admit, things have been a little...tense for you lately. I just don’t want to see anyone leaving here in a body bag tonight.”

“Killing other fighters won’t help the business,” Agron replied, tired and irritated and with the sudden urge to just go and hit his head repeatedly against a wall. “You could try and trust my judgment for once. Would make a change.”

Spartacus didn’t answer, only gave out a long sigh and then grabbed Agron’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “Have a good one, then,” he said, before turning to Nasir at his other side, “and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nasir nodded, and then with a final pat on Agron’s arm, Spartacus walked away, disappearing somewhere amongst the growing crowd. Agron turned to the younger man with his eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“I promised I try and sync the security systems for him in return for a lesson with the gun. Quid pro quo and all that.”

Agron huffed, but he knew his look had lost most of its edge by now. He didn’t even have the heart to jibe about the other man's sudden fluency in Latin.

“Should have guessed he’ll try his best to lure you away,” he said instead, “You’re too good for me and my little repair operation.”

“I guess you better up your game, then. Maybe we should talk about a raise.”

Nasir’s smile was like pins and needles on his skin, and Agron quickly found himself fiddling with the gauze roll in his hands to have something else to focus on. Thankfully, a sudden commotion at the door broke the moment and saved Agron from trying – and most likely failing – to come up with a reply that would have involved anything else but dick-jokes.

“Let’s get this party started, people!”

Agron smiled to himself at the voice and turned around to see the woman leaning on the doorway. She was wearing skintight black from head to toe: grease stained jeans and combat boots and a ripped tee under her leather jacket – in other words, business as usual. Agron smiled wider and caught her eye, and she gave him a slow smile in return while idly running her hand through her nest of blond hair.

She walked over, deliberate and slow, stopping only when she was standing right in front of him.

“Agron.”

“Saxa.”

He went for a hug, but before he had a chance to, she had grabbed his face between her hands and planted a wet kiss straight on the mouth. When she pulled away, the grin on her face was dirtier than a pile of week-old laundry.

In other words, business as usual.

“I think this here is what the kids are calling sexual harassment, babe,” Agron said with mock indignation as he wiped her lipstick off with his thumb.

“These abs are what I call sexual harassment, _babe_ ,” she replied, poking him in the stomach and giving him a wink. “If you ever need a second paycheck, the offer still stands, you know.”

Agron answered by rolling his eyes and then quickly turned his attention to the refrigerator of a man in full-on biker gear that had appeared behind her shoulder. The man quickly put up his hands.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t gonna kiss you, ya ugly bastard," he said in his thick Scottish brogue, "So you can stop right there.”  His dark beard was only partly hiding a grin that was almost as dirty as Saxa’s.

“Love you, too, Lugo,” Agron replied, matching his tone, and then he was already grabbed into a bear hug that nearly broke bones.

“Aye. It's been long, mate,” Lugo said with a final pat on the back as he pulled away.

“Too long,” Saxa agreed.

Agron took in the sight of the pair and nodded along.

He and Lugo had belonged to the same club once upon a time, back in Carson where Agron and Duro had gotten their start, not only in life in general but in all things leather, chrome and steel. And when their parents were gunned down in a robbery gone wrong, the club became a second home, giving them a place off the street and, most of all, a chance at evening out scores. Then, after an unsuspected raid, the state had offered them accommodation for twelve to fifteen months, which is how they met Spartacus. And the rest, as the song goes, was history.

Now, years later, the old club in Carson was taken over and Lugo had been on the road ever since. Saxa, in turn, was still riding under her own flag like she always had been – both when it came to her Fat Boy and life in general. And as hard a place as their world could be for a lone woman, Agron knew Saxa wouldn’t have it any other way.

And he also knew they were right; it had been too long. The Brothers were family, but these people – his people – were _home_. Home in a way this town could never be, especially now that Duro was...

Agron quickly shook off the thought and turned his attention back to the issue at hand.

“All this begs the question, what the hell are you two doing here, then? It’s a long way from Reno.”

Saxa smirked. “Heard it through the grapevine that you were gonna get your ass kicked tonight. How could we miss that?”

“Then I’m afraid you just rode all this way for nothing,” Agron said and started to tape the other hand, “Because that’s not going to happen. I don’t fight to lose.”

“Pride goes afore a fall, brother,” Lugo said.

Agron looked up and smirked in return. “No pride here, preacher man. I just happen to know how to fight.”

“So now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have bet everything on the other guy, after all?” Saxa said and kept laughing until her eyes slowly travelled away from Agron’s face, focusing on something over his shoulder.

“You’re new.” She gave a pointed look towards Nasir. “With a bit of growing still to do, huh?”

Agron looked over his shoulder and could easily see the familiar temper already bubbling to the surface at the comment. He quickly grabbed the man's shoulder, before Nasir had a chance to speak and most likely risk the edge of Saxa's blade.

“Maybe you should visit more often,” he told the woman, doing his best to glare her quiet, even though he knew that was a vain effort if there ever was one, “Nasir’s been around since May.”

“Well, if I’d known you had opened a daycare center, I–”

But before she had time to continue, or Nasir to react, Lugo patted her shoulder and stepped up between them.

“Now, now, hold yer tongue, lassie,” he said appeasingly and gave Nasir a wide grin and held out his hand. “Guid gear comes in sma' bulk, eh?”

His budding anger momentarily replaced by clear confusion, Nasir shook the hand gingerly while his eyes kept flitting between Lugo’s face and Agron’s. “Um...I guess?”

“Aye.” The Scot barked out a hearty laugh and clasped his hand on Nasir's shoulder. Then Donar shouted him a greeting from the impromptu bar set up in the corner and Lugo patted Nasir's back hard enough to make the smaller man stumble a little on his feet. “Come on ya wee lad, might as well go fer a swally since the ol’ bugger’s paying. Leave these two at it.”

Nasir had barely time to shoot one last wide-eyed look at Agron before Lugo was already steering them both in Donar's direction, his hand firmly planted on Nasir’s shoulder thwarting any plans of escape.

Saxa kept looking after their retreating backs for a moment, until she returned her attention back to Agron. And cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one with a casting couch around here.”

Agron took a steadying breath; this had gone south faster than expected.

“Careful,” he warned and pointed a finger at her face, “You’re a guest here, remember, so play nice.”

She scoffed and swatted his hand away, but couldn’t keep the scowl up for too long, and soon she was smirking again, topping it up with another wink.

“Never.”

Agron bit back a sigh and a smile. “Okay, then fuck off you and have a beer or something, I have shit to do.”

He was about to turn away himself, when she stopped him with a grip on his shoulder. Gentle but firm.

“How’s Duro doing?” This time there was nothing teasing or taunting in her voice or in the expression on her face.

The one thought he had been trying to suppress all day resurfaced again, and he barely had time to stop a pathetic whimper slipping between his lips. “He’s...stable.”

Lying on his back for months on end; guess you could call it stable.

“Well, that’s something at least,” Saxa replied.

Agron put on a smile that he hoped wouldn’t come off quite as fake it was and searched for the words to say. But he was coming up empty.

 

* * *

 

He had to give the guy credit, he was quicker than he had expected for a man of his size and had a decent arm on him as well. He had gotten in some punches that he shouldn't have, and that took some skill. Or maybe it was only the fact that it had been a while since Agron had been inside a ring like this; it was taking some time to find his rhythm again.

But god how he had missed it. Missed it even more than he had thought he had. The pure and simply physical act of fist connecting with skin, with flesh and bone – it barely even mattered if it was his fist or the other’s. There was no subtext, no nonsense, no bullshit inside the ring. Nothing to feel but the sharp pain when a kick or punch landed too well. Nothing else existed in this world, just the metallic taste of blood flooding his tongue and the sound of his own heavy breathing filling his ears.

He needed this. He fucking craved it. He needed it as much as he needed the air in his lungs, if not more – at least tonight.

And he was stalling now, he knew that as well. He was dragging it out for his own twisted pleasure as much as for entertainment value; the Puerto Rican was good, but he wasn’t _that_ good.

But then there came a point – there always did – when the taste of his own blood simply wasn’t enough any longer. And slowly the tide began to turn, billowing from Agron’s end of the ring to the other side.

The change in pace seemed to take his opponent completely by surprise. Perhaps the slow start had lulled him into thinking that he would stand a chance after all. Agron wouldn’t be losing sleep over that; the man should have known better.

Quickly, the other man was already losing his rhythm, missing easy punches, losing his step. He was growing tired and started making bigger mistakes. Then Agron landed one clean hit in the middle of his gut, and the man doubled over with a grunt, making the rest of it almost too easy.

Agron had always had a solid right hook, and this time he angled himself just so that it would do as much damage as possible without actually splitting the head open. He could hear cartridge cracking, feel teeth giving in, see the blood everywhere, but he barely noticed any of it as adrenalin took over.

The other man fell on the ground in a whimpering heap, gasping for breath and spitting blood on the floor. And all Agron could see was Batiatus’ smug grin and Glaber’s cool smile. And the barrel of a semiautomatic trained at his chest.

And he saw Duro, eyes focused on his, a brief smile ghosting over his lips while the color kept draining from his face.

“ _I saved you, didn’t I, Agron? I saved you this time.”_

Almost blindly, Agron reached down and grabbed the man by the throat, raising his head off the floor. He needed this. He needed it so bad that...

“Agron.”

He blinked – his hand around the man's neck, his fist suspended in the air, Donar's voice slowly drifting into his consciousness.

“I believe the man has tapped out.”

And gradually, Agron began to come back to himself. He could hear the bellowing of the crowd all around him again, could feel the sting of sweat on the cuts on his face, see the face in front of him: not Batiatus or Glaber, not Duro, but some badly banged up Puerto Rican with the fear of death in his eyes. And he let the man go, and he flopped back down on the ground like a 200-pound-ragdoll, while Agron himself rose up to his feet.

And the referee did his thing and the crowd began to cheer and jeer in equal measure. And Agron grinned, wild and feral, feeling the blood running down his chin.

Beyond that, he felt nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guid gear comes in sma' bulk = Good things come in small packages  
> swally = drink


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter was initially supposed to end completely differently, which is why I warned you about the slow pace in the beginning. But obviously those warnings are a little inaccurate now. Sorry about that...

 

The alcohol being poured on his raw skin made him wince and he instinctively tried to pull back his shoulder but that only made Mira grip him tighter.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said with a small smile, “If you’re able to walk out of a fight like that on your own feet, a little ethanol isn’t going to kill you.”

She taped up the cut, pressing on it with perhaps a little too much force as she did so. Agron glared at her, while he did his hardest not to wince again.

“You should really check on your bedside manner, Doc.”

“If you don’t want my attitude, then maybe you should think twice about getting yourself beaten up for money or find a new doctor to come and patch you up after a match,” she replied evenly and then looked him straight in the eyes, her own taking on a sober light. “Look, I really was worried for you for a moment out there. Especially after this morning at the hosp–”

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, cutting her off, having no interest in delving into all that again. “I’m guessing there’s no chance for sick leave?”

She sighed, but seemed to be content not to press the issue further. Tonight at least.

“The side’s gonna bruise, but nothing’s irreversibly broken, so thank god for small miracles and all that. And you know the drill about concussions by now so I won’t bore you with it.” She then placed a stack of butterfly bandages and alcohol wipes in his hand.

“You can manage your face on your own, I’m guessing.” She took his chin in her hand and tilted his face toward the light and then sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Though, whatever you do, that’s not going to look too pretty tomorrow I’m afraid.”

“I’ve looked worse.”

“Yes, you have,” she said and smiled faintly again.

“I’ve got the ice.”

Agron and Mira both turned to the door when they heard Nasir’s voice. He was standing on the threshold, holding a large plastic cup in his hands. He had lost his hoodie at some point and was now down to only his black tank and jeans. The waist of the pants hung low on his slim hips, revealing a sliver of bronze skin and a trail of dark hair that somehow seemed to catch Agron’s eye and he quickly looked away, deciding to concentrate on one of Crixus’ old posters on the back wall instead.

“Good,” he heard Mira say, as she went to grab her bag and coat from the floor, “you can use one of the towels there, and just...” She pointed towards the desk Agron was leaning against, but then quickly turned around again. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you how that is done. And please, make sure that he tapes up that brow, I’m starting to think he’s too fond of his scars.”

Nasir nodded solemnly while Agron kept glaring at the woman’s back in irritation. Another babysitter was not exactly what he needed right now.

“See you later, buttercup,” he shouted after her, knowing precisely how much she hated that nickname.

“Not if I see you first,” she replied, never looking back, giving a little wave with her fingers as she walked out the room and back to the front of the slowly emptying gym.

Nasir passed her in the doorway and closed the door behind her, muting the voices outside. He had made it halfway across the floor when Agron finally found the courage to look up and stop him.

“Look, you might want to steer clear of me tonight, I’m not in the best mood to be honest.”

“And that’s different from every other day how exactly?”

Agron looked up and was met with the familiar I’m-not-taking-any-of-your-shit smirk that he by now had come to expect from the other man. He willed himself not to smile in return and huffed noncommitally instead; the other man really should’ve learned a little more respect by now.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, kid,” he muttered as Nasir was walking over.

And he really did, Agron couldn’t help but think to himself as he kept following the younger man with his eyes. Wide and generous with a full set of lips, especially the bottom one that always stuck out when things didn’t go his way. The one Agron now had a sudden urge to grab between his teeth and chew on.

And he found himself wondering how it would feel to kiss that mouth. And then he found himself wondering about some other things about that mouth as well. He shifted in his seat.

And when Nasir a second later came to a stop next to him by the table, Agron was so wired he nearly jolted off its edge.

He was always horny after a fight, but this was ridiculous. He would soon be sporting a semi and they were barely even talking for god’s sake. He shifted his weight again and did his best to adjust himself as surreptitiously as he possible could while the other man was busy pouring ice in the fold of a white towel that had seen better days.

“Could you at least try and pretend to be scared of me?”

“No,” Nasir answered simply, and pressed the makeshift ice bag against Agron’s left shoulder. “Hold that,” he said, taking the wipes and the bandages off Agron’s hand in return.

Agron complied without a word, while Nasir got to work cleaning and taping the cut above his left eye. He had moved to stand between Agron’s legs to make it easier on himself, and although their bodies weren’t touching, Agron could still easily feel the heat radiating from him, could feel it on his bare chest and through the cotton of his sweatpants. Nasir’s breath ghosted hot on Agron’s face, and he had to close his eyes and grip his free hand around the edge of the table to keep it from reaching out.

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

Agron opened his eyes and was met with Nasir’s hazel ones. The stare held for what felt like a minute, until Agron shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“So, you did alright out there tonight,” the other man said after another moment of silence. Agron could see him bite his tongue in concentration as he smoothed down another butterfly bandage over the torn brow.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Nasir’s face split into a smile and he chuckled, his gaze still hovering somewhere above Agron’s eyes. “No, you were good,” he said earnestly, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips again. “Really good.”

The air around them felt thicker, like he was trying to draw in lungfuls of engine oil instead of oxygen, and Agron could swear the temperature in the room had already gone up to three digits, despite the ice on his shoulder. And it seemed Nasir was feeling it too, since his face was becoming more flushed by the second, a deep pink spreading over his cheeks.

“It’s not you I’m surprised about,” he continued, giving Agron’s brow a last brush of fingers, and then finally lowered his eyes to meet his. “I just never thought _I’_ d be that into it, you know?”

Then his gaze strayed even lower, far away from Agron’s face. And it looked like he was mapping every line of Agron’s body with his eyes, but so brazenly that Agron began to think he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. And then he was speaking again, but the blood now rushing in Agron’s ears was making it difficult to hear him.

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen guys getting beaten up before, I have. Plenty. But it’s just never been something I thought I could...” Nasir’s eyes now lingered somewhere around the waist of Agron’s sweats and he bit his lower lip. “...enjoy.”

Agron felt his cock twitching at the attention. He cleared his throat. “And did you? Enjoy it now?”

Nasir didn’t answer, only raised his eyes back to his. And fuck if he wasn’t now looking at Agron like Pete looked at a perfectly cooked steak. And fuck if Agron didn’t need this right now. Needed someone to look at him just like that.

And maybe it wasn’t ideal that that someone was Nasir of all people, that particular situation was already enough of an endless pit of complications as it was. Agron should’ve just gone out to the nearest bar and pick up some stranger who he wouldn’t have to deal with tomorrow or the day after. It would have made things so much simpler.

But when had Agron had ever been someone to make things easier for himself?

He slowly removed the ice off his shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Once his hand was free, he reached out and grabbed the front of Nasir's top, balling the fabric in his fist.

_Shit._

But he knew it was too late. The proverbial ship was already sailing halfway to open sea.

He yanked the other man forward by his shirt, drawing him closer between his thighs, while he cupped the back of his neck and leaned down for a kiss. But it was clear Nasir needed little coaxing, as his mouth was already there, hot and hungry and so fucking open that Agron tangled his fingers in his hair and gripped tighter to pull him even closer. It was like he couldn’t get deep enough.

He could feel warm hands everywhere on him: travelling over his chest and the taped up shoulder, up his arms, down his stomach, fingers tracing the line between the muscles. Then the fingers dipped under the waistband and it was enough to force Agron to gasp and break the kiss.

Nasir smirked. “Been wanting to do that all night.”

“Uh-huh...Anything else?”

Nasir’s eyes flicked down to his hand and he licked his lips, and the amount of blood now pooling in the opposite direction from his brain was starting to make Agron feel a little light-headed.

“Yeah...” Nasir said, and before Agron had time to form another semi-coherent thought, the man had already dropped to his knees on the stained linoleum.

He definitely knew what he was doing. Well enough that it made Agron forget all about the age-difference and tomorrow’s inevitable weirdness and even the unlocked office door. And it would have been so easy to just give in now and let this thing run its course fast and hard, but Agron knew he had to find a way to give them both more time. He needed to have this if only a little bit longer. It wouldn’t be his forever.

He pulled gently at Nasir’s hair until their eyes met again.

The other man scrambled up from the floor with a confused frown and Agron did his best to offer a reassuring smile. “You’re wearing too much,” he said, snaking one hand under his top as he leaned in to taste himself from his lips. Slow and easy.

The tank was the first to go, then the jeans, pooling down around Nasir’s ankles as he toed off his sneakers, which quickly left him dressed in only his boxer briefs that did little to hide the erection straining underneath. Agron let his fingers skim over its outline while his eyes strayed everywhere else: the man was all tan and inked skin stretching over lean muscles, and he definitely had more meat over his bones now than that first morning Agron had laid eyes on him. Good. That starving look wasn’t right on anybody.

“So are you just gonna watch, or...”

Agron smirked at Nasir's tone and then grabbed him and quickly turned them around on the floor, pushing the man roughly against the desk and forcing out a yelp when his feet left the ground.

“Someone’s impatient,” he murmured against Nasir’s mouth, cradling his head in his hand as he leaned in for another kiss.

The desk wasn’t necessarily the ultimate location for sex in the world, but between that and the sticky floor and the swivel chair that was missing a wheel, it was the best they could do in this room. Especially since Agron’s battered body quickly put a limit on any further acrobatics.

“So what should we do now?” he asked, voice low, trailing biting kisses from collarbone to earlobe as he settled between the man’s open thighs, fingers toying with the elastic waist of his underwear. “What would you want?”

“What do _I_ want?”

“Yeah.” Agron frowned as he drew back to look at Nasir’s face. It had seemed like a simple enough question. “Blowjob, rimjob, handjob, fucking? All of the above? Something else?”

Nasir shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

And – okay – generally, that would have been enough for Agron to just continue, but he was sensing something else there, a darker undercurrent, and stopped. No matter how much his dick was screaming at him to get on with it. He might have been an inconsiderate bastard generally in life, but he still was never the kind of guy who would force himself on anybody.

He snatched Nasir’s hand as it was about to grab him again, and then lifted his chin so that they were looking eye to eye. He tuned out the throbbing down south and used up all the willpower he had to keep his voice as steady as he could.

“But it's about what we _both_ want, right? So, let’s just figure that shit out first. Like a Venn diagram of fucking, yeah?”

Nasir blinked at him, looking like reciprocity was some sort of a novel concept. And then it finally dawned on Agron that perhaps it was, and he cursed under his breath.

There was complicated, and then there was _complicated_.

He pulled away and started to take a step back. “Look, maybe this isn’t such a good id–”

But he was stopped by heels hooking around the back of his thighs and Nasir suddenly leaning forward on the desk and reaching out to kiss him. Rough and deep with fingers burrowing in the base of his neck.

“Okay,” he said panting, when he slowly peeled himself away from Agron’s lips.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. That Venn-thing. Figure it out.”

“But–”

Agron barely even got started this time before he was already cut off by another kiss. It was something that he realized would be way too easy to get used to. He grabbed the other man’s shoulder and pushed him back gently.

“Nasir...”

And he kept looking at the man, wondering briefly if what he saw in his eyes was really there or if his dick was just making him see things in its desperation to find release.

“...You’re _sure_ you’re sure?”

This time the man answered with a subtle eye-roll. “Yeah. But are you sure I’m sure I’m sure?”

“Nasir...”

“Agron...”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment in silence. And then Agron could feel the side of his mouth starting to twitch while Nasir’s lips were already curving into a smile. And then neither of them could hold back the laughter any longer.

“Honestly, though. After-hour sex in the office? That’s like a start of a bad porno. Saxa would be proud.”

Agron gave him a look. “In this case, a very _good_ porno, thank you very much.”

And Nasir wrapped his arms around his neck and smiled even wider, so open and fond that it made Agron ache in places he didn’t even remember he had.

“Well, so far it’s been a lot of talk and little action, hasn’t it? I don’t think we’d win any awards.”

And then Nasir drew Agron back in, and Agron grabbed his thighs and pulled him even closer to the edge of the table, closer to him, forcing out a moan that was quickly swallowed in another kiss.

Then, suddenly, Agron could hear footsteps and rough voices from the other side of the door. For a second he froze in place, lips against Nasir’s, one hand on his thigh the other inside his briefs. And then Agron’s instincts finally kicked in and he pulled away. Being caught with his pants down wasn’t on his list of things he wanted to do tonight – or ever, really. The club might have been more or less indifferent about him fucking other guys in principle, but Agron was pretty sure practice was another story. And he’d had enough of beating up idiots for one night.

But Nasir’s hand grabbing his arm stopped him in mid-step and he turned back only to find the other man looking back at him with what looked a hell of a lot like an embarrassed smile.

“I locked the door.”

The longer their stare held the deeper the flush on his face seemed to grow. Then, after the surprise had finally worn off, Agron raised his eyebrow and smirked.

“Thought I was that easy, huh?”

Nasir looked away for a second but then bit his lip and glanced back up at Agron again under his lashes, eyes wide with feigned innocence. And fuck, no one had the right to look like that, look that good. How the hell was Agron now supposed to not see _that_ every fucking time he looked at him? How the hell was this ever going to work? Would he just have to spend half of every workday jacking off in the bathroom or something?

He stifled the creeping fear by leaning in to peck Nasir’s lips. Well, at least he wasn’t jacking off alone now. There was that.

“So what do you want to do?”

Nasir seemed to contemplate this for another second and then gave Agron a lopsided smile.

“All of the above?”

And Agron snorted against his skin. “Well, I've always liked you for your optimism.”

As it happened, sex with Nasir ended up being very much the same tug-a-war as everything else with him was. One minute Agron felt he couldn’t touch the man tenderly enough, felt the inexplicable urge to just cover him, envelop him, protect him as if he was something too easily breakable for this world. And then the next moment, they were back at it like cats and dogs, Nasir clawing scratch marks on his back and Agron sinking his teeth in his shoulder and thrusting in so hard he nearly made Nasir slide out of his reach on the desktop.

Agron could barely remember ever being this desperate before with anyone; he was fucking like he was looking for a way to hide and disappear inside Nasir’s skin, to have that last escape before all the shit he had been running from finally caught up with him. And at the back of his mind he knew that the sex wouldn’t solve any of his problems and probably would only create a shitload more, but it was hard to care when it felt this goddamned good.

And he did his best to stall the inevitable, but since this was real life and not a pornfilm, things didn’t last forever. Then again, at least Agron could take pride in the fact that he had even lasted this long and not just come in his pants after the first kiss. It had been a close call.

“Fuck, Agron...”’

He opened his eyes just in time to see the other man close his. And Agron tightened his grip and drove into him even harder while Nasir sank his nails in his bicep in response. And then the other man was already coming and his whole body tensed and shuddered until finally going limp and flopping back on the table like a cloth wrung dry.

And Agron leaned back down, not able to resist a taste, chuckling as the other man squirmed when his stubble scraped the skin. Then he grabbed the back of Nasir’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was slow and sloppy, and not exactly sweet but dangerously close to getting there, so Agron decided that it would have to be the last one. Or he would have to keep on kissing him forever, and how the fuck would that ever work?

It wouldn’t.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains discussion of homophobia and there’s one brief (graphic) reference to suicide.

 

The hazel eyes looking back at him were wide and at the brink of tears, and that plump lower lip started to quiver, making Agron’s stomach turn into knots. And he helplessly reached out his hand, but the other man quickly flinched at the touch and scooted away from him on the floor.

“I thought this meant that we would be together now.” Nasir’s voice was trembling and he pulled his knees towards him, hugging them tight. “And now you’re asking me to just forget it ever happened? How can you say that?”

At a perfect loss of anything sufficiently intelligent to say or do, Agron kept staring at him in a mixture of confusion and quickly growing panic. He was starting to taste the remnants of lunch at the back of his throat.

A round or two more in the ring would have been a vacation in comparison.

“Look I didn’t...I mean, shit...Maybe we should just...” His voice trailed off and he scratched his head and bit back a whimper.

Wasn’t this the exact goddamn reason he had always avoided getting involved with guys in the first place? And the reason he had avoided getting involved with Nasir in particular? What the fuck had he been thinking? Could he not have ignored his dick for one more night and tried to remember that the kid was nineteen and probably not...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Agron.”

Agron looked up from the floor and watched in confusion as Nasir’s dejected face abruptly split into a grin in front of him, and then the man’s shoulders started to shake in a losing struggle to suppress a laugh.

“You’re too easy for your own good, you know that?”

Agron blinked, still trying to catch on, while Nasir kept chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

“Look, it’s fine. We were both horny and had sex and enjoyed it, end of. It’s not the worst that could happen.” He paused and glanced over. “I mean, you did enjoy it, right?”

For a moment, Agron wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle the man or kiss him. But then he realized he didn’t have the energy left for either, and so finally he simply sat back down on the floor with a sigh.

“Sure.”

“Well, yeah... I figured that much. So no harm done.”

Agron sighed again and leaned his head back against the desk. “You fucking scared me there for a minute, you know that?”

Nasir bumped his leg against his and smirked. “Well maybe you should have known better by now. Known _me_ better.” He chuckled again. “It’s just sex; people do it all the time. You have no idea how many times I’ve walked in on the guys getting head back at the club.”

“Not from each other, though, I’m guessing.”

Agron smiled wryly to himself and then took another deep breath and started tapping his fingers on his knees. Might as well get the rest of it out now since they were already talking.

“Look, just so you know, the club is probably not the right place for either of us to be doing...this.” He waved his finger between them. “So best if we just make this a one-time thing, okay?”

The other man nodded matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I get it. There’s a difference between being queer and _being_ queer around here, right?”

“Something like that.”

Agron picked up the empty condom wrapper from the floor and then kept fiddling with it just to keep his hands busy. “And honestly...” He shook his head slowly as he spoke. “I still don’t know what the hell was wrong with me tonight. I don’t usually just jump unsuspecting people like some horny teenager.”

He could hear Nasir snorting beside him.

“Well, it’s not like you were the only one there, is it? And anyway, you needed to let off steam, I get it. It’s pretty understandable in the circumstances.”

Agron looked at him and frowned.

“People talk,” Nasir said simply.

“Duro?”

And again the other man nodded in reply.

“You know, I had a younger brother, too. Ismail.” He paused and smiled abruptly, but the tense he used stuck with Agron. “Well, I called him Ish. He kind of insisted.” And for a brief moment he smiled even wider. “The sweetest little thing you have ever seen. The kind of kid that would light up a room, you know? And I know that’s such a cliché, but he really was.”

Agron shifted in his seat and then had to stop and cringe for a second when his shoulder hit the corner of the desk in a wrong angle.

“Was?”

Nasir didn’t answer straight away, only kept tugging at the hem of his tank top. Finally, he let out a shuddered breath and shook his head.

“No, it's not Ish who’s dead. That would be _me_.”

Agron stared at him for a moment and then poked him in the side, half teasing half because he really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “You don’t seem that dead to me.”

“Well, I am,” Nasir said, “back home at least.” He gave a dark smile that for a second somehow made him look years older than he was. And finally Agron understood.

“Because of...” He waved his hand between them again.

“Yeah. Haven’t been back in five years.”

Agron might have understood getting shit like that from people in general, but to get it from _family_? That was something Agron could never wrap his mind around. His parents might not have been exactly PFLAG material by any stretch, but at least Agron could be sure they would have never thrown him out on the street, either. If his dad had taught him one thing in this life it was that blood sticks together, no matter what. You didn’t turn your back on family.

Nasir let out a bitter laugh.

“My parents kick me out for being queer, and then I end up in a fucking MC of all places as if that would be better.” He tapped the side of his head. “Not the smartest of people, am I?”

“There are worse places to be than here, trust me,” Agron answered evenly.

There were also better places, but those stood far away from the open road and were places Agron had no interest in. This was his life; this would do. At least for him.

He looked over and Nasir was giving him a strange look; he seemed apprehensive and a little confused, or maybe just wary.

“But won’t they...I mean, they’ll hurt you for that...around here. Don’t they?”

Agron wasn’t one to give inspiring speeches, but he decided the other man deserved that much after tonight. Might as well try and give him some peace of mind.

“The first rule in this place is to learn how to take care of yourself. No matter who or what you are. I mean, most people in this business will just try to hurt you ‘cause that’s what they do; they don’t need to go looking for excuses. And then those who do...well, you point a gun at someone’s face and they usually shut up pretty quickly.”

He watched Nasir frown in contemplation.

“I guess that’s one way to deal with it,” he said, hesitation dripping from every word.

“And the guys around here don’t really give a damn where you put your dick as long as you do your job. But still, you gotta choose your battles.” Agron gave a small laugh. “I mean, there’s being proud and then there’s just being fucking stupid, you know.”

He looked over to the other man who was still frowning at him. Agron was all out of things to say, so finally he just shrugged and let out a deep breath.

“I live my life and keep most of it to myself, but I’m not gonna start pretending I like anything else than dick either just because some shitface might give me a funny look for it. And I can take care of myself. I guess my advice for you is to learn to do the same.”

“And it’s as easy as that?” Nasir didn't sound exactly reassured, but at least the worst of the frown was gone.

“As easy as that.”

But of course it wasn’t as easy as that. Sometimes it wasn’t easy at all.

Agron wouldn’t tell Nasir that, though. Not tonight. He wouldn’t say how Auctus – an old dog at this game and a better fighter than Agron would ever be – had been run off the road three years ago on his way down from Folsom. Or how some assfaces had rounded up Pietros behind the 7-Eleven and then left him in a bleeding heap at the gate of the compound. And he definitely wouldn’t say how a couple of weeks later he’d found the boy hanging from a ceiling beam in the backroom.

“I’m sorry about your folks,” he said. Instead.

“I know. Doesn’t change a thing, though, does it? Shit happens.” Nasir shrugged. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

This time the silence that fell kept stretching between them, and for a long while there was nothing to hear but the whir of the air conditioning unit and the faint crackling noise from a flickering fluorescent lamp overhead. The voices from the other side of the door had already died out a long time ago.

“So Mira’s telling me I need to pull the plug.”

Nasir turned to look at him again, and this time it was his thick brows that knitted together in confusion. “The plug?”

“On Duro.”

And Nasir’s frown only grew deeper. “But I thought he was in a coma. Don’t people wake up–”

“No.” And the answer was enough to even surprise Agron himself. “No, it’s worse than that. There’s so much damage that all he’s able to do anymore is breathe on his own and nothing else. He’s not gonna wake up, just keep on lying there like a fucking vegetable. The one thing he never would’ve wanted. I mean, who _would_?”

He took a deep, steadying breath. It felt so weird hearing Mira’s words coming from his own mouth. Somehow, it made it sound like they could actually be true.

“Then why is he still–”

“Cause I’m such a coward, I can’t fucking do it,” Agron spat out. But the anger wasn’t directed at Nasir, only himself; he barely even realized there was someone else sitting next to him anymore. And then he could feel the strings still barely holding him together slowly snapping apart one by one.

He rubbed his face and leaned back, closing his eyes. “Mira keeps saying I’m just being selfish and treat him like some personal toy, keep him alive for my own entertainment.” He sighed, suddenly feeling both defeated and deflated. “I don’t know, maybe she’s right.”

“You _can_ do it, Agron.”

“No, I can’t,” he insisted and shook his head. “Don’t you think I’ve fucking tried already? Don’t you think I try every fucking time I’m there? But I can’t, I know I ca–”

“You will. It’s the right thing to do.”

And Agron could only bark a bitter laugh at that.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, giving Nasir a tired look, “Because I’m such a good guy? Always doing the right thing?”

“No. Because he’s your brother and you love him.”

And whatever words Agron meant to say, they got trapped in his throat, and what came out instead was some sort of a strange strangled sound. And he never expected the tears; it had been a long time since he had truly cried over anything, especially over Duro. He had forced himself not to, made himself believe that as long as he wasn’t breaking apart over it, it wasn’t happening. That one day, Duro would still walk through the door and give him shit and be the pain in the ass that he always was.

One day.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m being such a–”

But he stopped when he felt a touch on his arm and then a hand brushing over his taped brow, thumb wiping away a tear. He glanced over and Nasir gave him a small smile.

“Come on. You can’t ride with that shoulder, I’ll drive you home, okay?”

 

* * *

 

“So what happened?”

Agron took a deep drag of the cigarette and then blew the smoke out slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked out into the darkened backyard. “It’s a pretty long story. You’re sure you’re up for it?”

The other man was sitting sideways on the step, leaning his back against one of the porch posts. The sole of his sneaker was idly tapping against Agron’s thigh, but Agron was pretty sure Nasir had no idea he was even doing it.

“Go on, then. As long as I’m here, you might as well tell me.”

And Agron was almost able to smile at that. Almost. But he didn’t.

“Well, it started when Spartacus was still in the Navy...”

Nasir raised both his eyebrows at him, and Agron let out a dry laugh. “I told you, long story. So, you still wanna hear it?”

He watched the other man nod while he inhaled some more smoke and then flicked ash absentmindedly on the step below him. Agron didn’t let his eyes linger too long, so he quickly turned back to the darkness in front of him again. He could hear a fly buzzing in the lamp above.

“It’s kind of a cliché, really,” he started, brushing his thumb along his split lower lip as he spoke. “A drunk driver, you know? A hit and run and Sura really never had a chance. She was DOA at the hospital, and of course they then find out she was pregnant, too. That’s one hell of a phone call to get when you’re deployed thousands of miles away.” Agron gave a hollow laugh and leaned harder against his knees. “A fucking Lifetime movie right there.”

“So the driver was...”

“Glaber. The cowardly shit that he is, he wouldn’t even call 911 just fled the scene and left her bleeding there. And Spartacus...” Agron sighed. “...Well, he went a little crazy for a while after that. And in the end, it got so bad that the Navy kicked him out, and then after a few round trips to Pleasant Valley, he finally ended up in the fighting circuit with Crixus. And now...” He paused to shrug. “...here we are.”

“And Glaber?”

Agron scoffed. “The fuck’s got money and his father-in-law even more so. The whole thing was brushed under a rug so quick he probably got whiplash again.”

The dog came scurrying back from the yard and quickly settled halfway across Nasir’s lap without as much as a perfunctory sniff in Agron’s direction. Agron didn’t mind, in fact he barely noticed; he knew he had lost the competition for crowd favorite a long time ago.

“But what has Batiatus got to do with any of this?” Nasir asked as he kept grudgingly scratching the dog behind the ear. “Isn’t he supposed to be dealing guns for the Russians? And Glaber’s just a suit, right? So why are they–”

“Well, Batiatus is financing more than half of his campaign by now. But no one is supposed to be privy to that, for obvious reasons. Spartacus only knows about it–”

“Because he’s been keeping tabs on Glaber this entire time, right?”

Agron flicked his eyes over to him and gave a wry smile. “You catch on quick.”

He watched Nasir shrug and blow a smoke ring in the air.

“And now Batiatus is trying to threaten you to keep you quiet.”

“More or less.”

The man had never been the club’s biggest fan, but things had quickly escalated the moment Glaber had gotten into the picture, and everything had been veering into a wrong direction ever since. And now Agron was no longer sure if there was any kind of a plan left on the table to speak of, especially when their VP had been running around the state on his own business and messing up their schedule even further.

“So you were spying on Glaber when Duro was...”

Agron nodded slowly and watched some more smoke swirling up into the night sky. “We weren’t exactly expecting the Russians there, and before we had a chance to call for the others, they already sniffed me out. Batiatus went for his gun, Duro jumped in the middle, and...” He flicked the butt of his cigarette down on the ground; it flew in an arc in the air. “...Well, the rest you already know.”

“Yeah...I’m s–”

“I know,” Agron said with a deep sigh. “Doesn’t change a damn thing, though, does it?”

This time, the silence that fell between them was filled with the rustling of plastic and cardboard as Nasir fished a new pack of smokes out of his jean pocket.

“You don’t mind if I stay for one more, do you?”

Agron glanced over to look at him and then realized his stare lingered, but he was too tired to care. He took the offered cigarette and slipped it between his lips as Nasir flicked the lighter.

“Just one, though. I mean, it _is_ a school night.”

The toe of Nasir’s sneaker hit Agron’s thigh right in the bruise above the knee, and Agron grabbed his ankle and shot him a half-hearted glare.

“Careful there.”

“Sorry,” Nasir replied before going back to lighting his own cigarette, “The shoe must have slipped.”


	12. Chapter 12

“...so that’s when ‘im and this fucker over’ere, drunk off their arses, went and stole a boat.”

Agron saw Nasir frown as he tried to make sense of the thick accent.

“A boot?”

“Not a boot, ya wee git, a _boat_. Tha bloody thing ye drive ‘round a lake. A boat!”

“Oh, a boat!”

Lugo scowled. “Aye, lad. Didn't I just say so?”

The Scot continued with the story, and Agron let them carry on and went back to nursing his beer, leaning his elbows back on the bar counter as he took in the scene in front of him.

As far as these things went, it could have been much worse than a room full of friends drinking themselves into a stupor and sharing stories. At least there were no hymns or sobbing, no required propriety and no priest or pastor telling him how his brother was in a better place and with God or some shit like that. As if their fairytales could have ever made Agron feel better when nothing else did.

And fuck God. Any of them.

But even if there were no black veils and organ music, there still were the looks, the pats on the back, the hushed tones. And if Agron hated one thing in this world above anything else, it was pity. Even Crixus was on his best behavior, when all Agron wanted was for the man to curse him out like he used to. He wasn’t an invalid for fuck’s sake; he’d lost a brother, and no amount of goodwill would ever bring Duro back.

Suddenly he sensed another presence beside him and then two slim arms snaking around his waist. Agron sighed, but lifted his arm anyway, as Saxa dipped her head under it to lean against his side.

“Hey there, old girl.”

And Agron half-expected to hear more familiar platitudes in return, but she didn’t answer him at all; instead, she stole the beer from his hand and took a swig of it, only to quickly return the bottle with a grimace.

“What’s that? Some brandless domestic shit? Leave it to you to be a no-taste fuck even at your brother’s funeral.”

And leave it to Saxa to know exactly what he needed to hear, Agron thought fondly. And he couldn’t help but smile, as much as his face protested the action. He leaned back and reached for a bottle of Blue Label from behind the bar and poured her a finger.

“There. Happy?”

She took the glass with a subdue smile and clinked it with Agron’s bottle.

“To Duro,” she said, raising her drink.

“To Duro.”

They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, but Saxa’s attention span was even worse than Agron’s, and soon she had set her sights on Lugo and Nasir, who were still in the middle of the same halting conversation, standing a little to the side of them. She wiggled her glass in their direction.

“Your boy is clever, I’ll give him that. Just helped me fix the old bug in the paywall in like five minutes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Agron took another swig of his beer. He was about to correct her and say that Nasir wasn’t his anything, but then stopped himself at the last minute. It went without saying.

The woman was about to add something else but was cut off prematurely by Gannicus who ambled over and grabbed a beer from the bar behind them. He gave Agron a quick nod and a pat on the shoulder, and then he was gone again without another word.

Saxa followed him with her eyes for a moment and then took another sip of her drink. And Agron did the same.

Gannicus was an odd one out in their circles: a dirty cop who rarely played by the rules – not his employer’s or even Spartacus’ for that matter. His chosen profession didn’t garner him much respect around here, but he had always gotten the Brothers’ backs, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

Somewhere along the way, his path had crossed with Saxa’s, which had led them both in the inevitable direction for a good six months or so. But their open agreement had come to a close not too long ago, when Gannicus had suddenly put an abrupt end to their trouble-free arrangement and gone all monogamous with a waitress from Wendy’s.

Saxa said she couldn’t give a damn about any of that. Agron knew better.

“Look this touchy-feely act of yours is going a bit too far,” he said, ruffling her hair. “We need to get you laid, I think you’re overcompensating.”

She chuckled softly and downed the rest of her drink in one and slammed the glass down on the bar top. “Okay, who d’you have in mind? Better make it worth my time.”

Deciding to play along, Agron scanned the room until his eyes fell to the corner where one of the less married guys was chatting up a short and sprightly buxom girl with a head of curly red hair.

“I’m pretty sure Francisco’s always game.”

Saxa followed his line of sight and then tapped her finger on her lips in contemplation. “And the girl?” she said, “I have no interest in starting a domestic.”

“I’m sure you can charm her pants off, too. Go on, it won’t hurt to ask.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands.

“You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled a little wider and poked his side. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. But if this party ever turns into an orgy don't be surprised if your invitation is lost in the mail. And you still owe me the rest of that Walker, okay?”

Agron scoffed noncommitally, and then the next thing he knew she was already pecking him on the cheek without warning.

“Be seeing you, babe.”

He glared back at her, wiping his face. “And that is the last time you’re kissing me, okay? If I wanted lipstick all over my face, I’d fucking wear it myself.”

“I’ve always though a bit of fire red would work well with those green eyes.”

The laugh that he finally choked out was a little more strained than intended; and then he grabbed her by the waist and drew her closer hugging her tight against him.

“Thanks. Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Anytime.”

He was watching her make her way across the floor when he spotted Spartacus walking into the back room and decided he might as well take the opportunity and talk to the man now. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, and despite the unconventional setting, there was still too much grieving going on for his liking. Agron had never been that good with handling tears; he’d rather have blood.

“Hey.” He knocked on the doorframe and walked through the open door once he saw Spartacus turn around.

“Agron. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“And here I am.”

“Yes, well...I didn’t want to bother you with all this today.”

Agron frowned; it didn’t exactly sound like good news. “That bad?”

Spartacus gave him a tired smiled as he leaned back against his desk. “Isn’t it always,” he said but then quickly shook his head as if in an effort to clear his head. “Look, maybe you could start. I’m guessing you’re not here for small talk either.”

“No...” Agron smiled dryly himself. “Okay, the thing is, I’ve been thinking...”

“Never a good sign.”

“Just hear me out,” Agron continued, undeterred, “We’ve been stalling this thing with Glaber for long enough now, and you know the longer we wait the more time they have to run us out of business altogether. The elections coming up, and Batiatus won’t let anything get in the way of his puppet getting elected. Not now. And I get it’s a risky move to just go after them, but shit...If we don’t strike first, then they will. And I’d rather play offense than defense in this game. If Glaber actually gets into any kind of real power, then...”

“Agron...”

But he held up his hand and pressed on. “Look, I’ve done some poking around on my own, and it seems Batiatus resurfaced in Mexico. He’s bought land and property and is leaving as little paper trail behind as possible. And you know what that means. As it happens, Glaber’s supposed to be going on vacation in Cabo next month, and I’d bet all my money that vacationing isn’t all he’s doing...”

“Agron...”

“I know we’re short on men, but Lugo’s on board and he knows people, and so does Saxa. And Gannicus is backing us up. We gotta do this now, we’ll never get a better–”

“Crixus has a new lead on Naevia,” Spartacus said and pushed himself off the desk he had been leaning on. “Ashur has teamed up with the Russians, and they’ve moved their business to Nevada for the time being. Someone matching her description was seen at one of their underground clubs just last week.”

“What...”

“And as long there’s a chance that we might find her alive _that_ will be the priority, Agron. We’ll be leaving for Las Vegas as soon as we have our game plan sorted out.”

“Are you shitting me? You’d rather go chasing after ghosts again after what happened in Riverside? And now you’ve got the Russians involved in this as well, as if the fucking Syrian wasn’t enough! If we have to get half of our men killed by fucking sociopaths, then at least let it be for the future of the club and not for a girl who you know has already been dead for months now.”

Agron paused in an effort to try and get his breathing even again and watched Spartacus shake his head in his familiar way, like a disappointed father trying to talk sense to a five-year-old.

“I know getting Batiatus is important to you, Agron. It is for all of us. And you want justice for your brother, I understand that. But it can never take precedence over saving someone who is still _alive_.”

“Allegedly,” Agron sneered.

“Please...”

“Look, just forget my brother, but what about Sura, huh? You’re just gonna let Glaber get away with it? Rather get yourself killed on Crixus’ suicide mission? You’re telling me your wife’s memory means that little to you?”

To be honest, he should have expected it, but somehow the fist hitting him square in the side of his face still came as a surprise. He staggered backwards at the impact, taking hold of the wall to keep himself upright. Blood was already starting to spill from the cut on his lip, and he wiped it with his thumb before he finally wagered to look up.

“I understand today has been a difficult day for you, Agron,” Spartacus said. He kept massaging his hand as he spoke. “So, we’ll leave it at that. But talk about my wife like that again, and know that that’ll be the last day you’ll ever set foot in this place.”

Agron nodded slowly, wiping the blood from his fingers on the front of his shirt. He wasn’t going to apologize, but he understood.

“I’m not coming with you to Vegas,” he said quietly.

“No. I gathered that much.”

The two of them looked at each other across the floor for a moment. Agron had never thought of Spartacus as a friend, exactly; Spartacus was the boss, the leader of the pack, and unlike Crixus, Agron was happy enough with that pecking order. They weren’t equals but they were brothers – in spilled blood and oath – and as much as they disagreed on times, Agron had always thought they still ultimately saw things the same way. Now he felt like he didn’t know the man standing in front of him at all.

“I’m willing to die for a lot of things but not that,” he continued. “And not before I’ve had my chance with Batiatus. And if that means you need to find another sergeant, I understand.”

“We’ll talk about that once I’m back,” Spartacus said. “That is...” He stopped and frowned. “Will you still be here when we come back?”

“ _If_ you come back.”

“Will you?”

Agron sighed. “Where else would I be, Spartacus? It’s not like I’ve got some place else to go.”

  


* * *

  


It was what your less imaginative wordsmiths would simply call a beautiful day. The sun was shining, its light reflecting from the blue of the water; there was a slight breeze in the air to keep the sky clear, and if he trained his ears he could easily even hear the goddamn birds singing over the distant hum of traffic. Agron drummed his fingers along the metal sides of the box and sighed as he looked at the lake below. It was one of those views you could have put on any of the postcards that they sold at the gas stations around here. Then again, someone probably already had.

And Agron kept drumming his fingers, he kept waiting, but it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t happening.

For whatever reason, he had expected it to be different than this, expected it to feel different. Expected _himself_ to feel different. But evidently it didn’t work like that. It wasn’t like it always was in the movies: there were no life lessons to be learned, no secrets of the universe revealed, no swelling soundtrack playing in the background. There were no cloudy skies or desolate rain. It wasn’t the most tragic moment of his life. It wasn’t closure. It wasn’t peace. It was just him standing alone on a piece of rock with a steel box in his hands.

“So, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Whether he was asking about this specific moment or life in general, he couldn’t say for certain. Maybe both.

Before he ever was a Brother, he had always been a brother. It wasn’t just what he was but who he was. Even when everything else in his life was going to shit, there was always that to lean back on, there was always that to be. He could fight, he could protect, he could care for _something_ in this world – even if in his own flawed way – because he had Duro. He had that. He had family.

And the two of them had been a team: best friends, brothers, inseparable. But even so, the truth was that left to his own devices Duro still would have been able to be himself, known how to be and live and function in this world. Without Agron he would have been down one bodyguard but he would have still been _Duro_. Agron on the other hand...

What good was he on his own?

Out of the two of them, it was always supposed to be Duro who would get to live a proper life, make something out of himself, get a wife and kids and all that shit. Agron’s only job was to make sure that happened.

That was the way it was supposed to work; that was the way it was supposed to be. Not the other way around. Agron might have been the bigger one, the stronger one, the cleaner shot, but Duro decidedly was the better one. So, why was Agron still here and Duro not? That wasn’t right. It would never be right.

He took a deep breath and finally grabbed the edge of the lid with his fingers. There was no use in dragging this out any longer; it wouldn’t change the inevitable. It wouldn’t change the past.

He stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and after one last gentle brush of hand, finally took the lid off completely and emptied the box into the wind. And this part at least was just like it was in the movies.

Or it would have been, if the wind hadn’t suddenly changed direction and blown most of the ashes right back in Agron’s direction.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit...” he growled, jumping around the rest stop, spitting out ash that had gotten in his mouth, wiping his eyes, dusting it off of his hair, his shirt, his cut. Once he finally felt like he had gotten rid of the worst of it, he stopped by his bike and stood still for a long moment as the dust slowly cleared around him. He honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He rested heavily against the Dyna’s leather seat and buried his face in his hands with a groan. He could feel both the wetness and the remnants of dusty grit under his callous fingers and did his best to blink his eyes dry as he smiled through the tears.

“Well, fuck you, too, Duro. Fuck you, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

The dorm-room door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light from the corridor. Agron could hear music and voices in the distance and looked up, but his head felt too heavy for his neck, and he had to rest it back against the wall. He let it fall back too quickly, though, and it hit the plaster with a thump, making him slur out a string of curses under his breath.

“You alright? Spartacus asked me to check up on you.”

Agron snorted at the thought, which made his head jerk back and hit the wall again. “Fuck.”

“Agron?”

“Yeah, ‘m alright,” he mumbled and lifted his hand to rub the back of his skull. “Ne’er better.”

The door closed with a click, and for a second Agron thought he was alone again, but then he could hear footsteps in the darkness and then the bedside lamp was flicked on. Agron squinted at the sudden assault of light and peered up at Nasir who walked over and squatted down in front of him.

He peeled the bottle of vodka from Agron’s hand and put it down on the floor.

“It’s been a long day, I think it’s time you got some sleep,” he said, grabbing hold of Agron’s arm and hauling him up to his feet. It wasn’t an easy feat, but after a few trials and errors he finally succeeded and then did his best to pull and shove and tug Agron towards the narrow bed and push him on it, until he was splayed across the lumpy mattress, feet dangling off the end.

The flimsy metal frame squeaked loudly under Agron’s weight, and he could hear Nasir chuckling softly somewhere above him. He cracked open one eye, trying to focus on the face hovering over his head.

“You guys should really invest in some sturdier furniture, y’know. Rhaskos crashed two chairs only tonight.”

“Mm...Pass it on to the boss.” He closed his eyes again, indulging in the blissful darkness until he felt the mattress jumping gently under him. And then a hand brushed over the half-healed bruise on his cheek. Wiped away the half-dried tears.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

He lifted his head gingerly. Nasir was sitting at the edge of the bed, somehow too close and too far at the same time.

Agron snorted but it came out as more of a sniffle, forcing him to swallow down more snot and tears.

“Not really.” He reached out his hand but forgot what he wanted to do with it midway, and it ended up falling down somewhere in the younger man’s lap.

“You really should get some sleep,” Nasir repeated.

“Yeah, I...”

Agron didn’t realize he was holding on to the man’s shirt until he felt a hand over his own loosening the death grip. “Sorry,” he mumbled and let his head fall back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He was pretty sure his hand had dropped back on the mattress, too, somewhere. He wiggled his fingers. There it was. Unless it was the other one.

The bed squeaked again and soon enough the light was turned off.

“G’night then.”

Agron kept listening to his own shallow breathing in the silence as he waited for the sound of footsteps on the cheap laminate, waited for the door to open and close. Waited for the other man to disappear and for the all too familiar emptiness to return in his wake. And he wondered how it could be such a weight to carry, this piece that was missing, when surely by definition alone, it shouldn’t weigh a thing. But it did; it weighed like lead, crushing him, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And then there came the guilt to finish him off. Like clockwork. Agron had thought drinking the last of the vodka would have kept it at bay, but apparently he still hadn’t drunk enough. Not for tonight.

“Hey, now.”

He nearly jolted off the bed when he felt the touch on his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

What a stupid thing to say, but somehow Agron didn’t find it in himself to argue.

And then he felt the hand over his own again, thumb drawing some soothing pattern on the skin. Agron blinked but it was no use trying to see anything in the darkness and so he just ended up gripping the fabric still in his fist a little tighter.

“Please...” He didn’t even know what he was asking, just that he needed to not be alone. Not tonight.

The bedsprings danced again, and then there was something warm and solid pressing against his side.

“Move over then, you’re hogging all the space.”

And Agron was too drunk to do much else but obey, even as his muddled brain tried its hardest to scream at him behind the shroud of cheap beer and vodka. He rolled to his side and soon enough the other man had filled the vacated space between Agron’s back and the edge of the mattress. An arm circled around him, loose and relaxed, and he could feel the press of a forehead between his shoulder blades, warm breath on his skin through the cotton of his t-shirt.

“Nasir, I...”

“Shh. Just sleep, okay?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


He woke up the next morning to a splitting headache and an empty bed. Bright strips of sunlight filtered through the blinds, telling him it was royally past his wake-up time, and he quickly sat up on instinct only to regret it for a good two minutes afterwards, right up until the room finally stopped spinning. He stayed perfectly still for another minute, just in case the need to puke became overwhelming, but thankfully whatever he had poured in his stomach last night still decided to stay there for the time being.

There was a reason he rarely drank more than what he knew he could handle. He really didn’t do hangovers. He didn’t have time for this shit.

And speaking of shit, it was also a pretty good description of what his mouth tasted like right now. He gripped the edge of the mattress, trying to prepare himself for getting up and getting himself something to drink to rinse his tongue. And guess a couple of ibuprofens wouldn’t hurt either. If only he could get the floor to level out first.

And that is when he noticed the tall glass of water and two pills on the chair next to the bed, standing in a ray of light like some biblical vision. He frowned for a second, trying to think who would have cared enough to do that for a hangover. Hardly any of the guys, and he doubted a prospect would have bothered with playing nurse either.

Despite the questionable origin, he swallowed down the tablets anyway and drank the lukewarm water to the last drop. He needed to get up, have a shower, have a coffee. Get to work. He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes with a solemn promise that he would open them again soon.

Just five more seconds.

It took him a little more than that, but eventually, after a scalding shower, a change of clothes and a cursory shave, he sauntered into the club kitchen, following the smell of coffee along the corridor.

Crixus pushed past him in the doorway, without a glance or a word, which was even less than usual. Agron deduced that Spartacus must have finally told him about Las Vegas. Or the lack there of in Agron’s case. Though, he had to wonder why the man would care so much what Agron did this way or that way – he rarely had before.

He was still watching after the VP’s back when suddenly there was a mug of coffee hovering in front of his face.

“How’s the head?”

Agron took the offered mug with a small smile and followed Nasir into the kitchen. The other man jumped up to sit on the countertop as Agron settled on leaning against its edge.

“It’s better...I think. At least the floor stays about level now.” He sipped the coffee. It was steaming hot, bitter and perfect; he bit his tongue to stop himself from making any embarrassing noises.

“Well, that’s good then.”

“I guess...” Agron had just closed his eyes as he savored the coffee, but he blinked them open again when the realization suddenly hit. “Wait, it was you who left the pills, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, that...yeah...”

Nasir’s smile was oddly fond and it wasn’t what Agron needed to see right now, so he ducked his head to stare down in his coffee instead.

“...You were pretty out of it last night, when I helped you to bed. Thought you might need it.”

_Out of it...last night...helped you to bed..._

Suddenly a thought came crashing in Agron’s brain and he cringed. “I didn’t...” He scrubbed his face, trying to find the words. “I didn’t do anything too stupid last night, did I? Like try some shit on you or...”

Nasir’s face made a weird scrunchy thing and Agron grimaced, which only ended up accentuating the dull throbbing that had settled behind his eyes, and he covered his face with his hand again.

“Shit, please tell me I didn’t try to...”

He felt a touch on his hand, peeling away the fingers one by one, and he finally hazarded a peek and to his relief found the other man smiling again.

“Nah, man. Nothing like that. Just...y’know...the usual. Stupid jokes and gibberish and shit.”

And Agron finally let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank god. I’m in enough trouble around here as it is.” He thought about everything that had gone down with Spartacus at the funeral and then quickly swallowed down the bitterness with another mouthful of coffee.

“So you really don’t remember anything about last night, huh?”

“It’s pretty much lights out after Tychos passed me that vodka.” Agron gave another cringing smile. “It’s been a while since that’s happened. I think the last time was on Spartacus’ birthday, when Duro came up with a drinking game where you had to take a shot every time Crixus said something stupid and an extra shot for every fist-pounding speech Spartacus gave. I think we were off our faces after the first hour.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly and hear Nasir do the same.

“So your brother sounds like a great guy.”

“Yeah, he...was.”

The tense would never feel right, but it was what it was; Agron needed to get used to it.

“You would have liked him.”

“I’m sure I would’ve.”

For a minute, the only thing disturbing their shared silence was the rumble from the old refrigerator unit. Then Nasir jumped back down on the floor.

“Okay, time to get to work.”

Agron looked at him over the rim of his mug, feeling more amused at his earnest expression than he had any right to be about anything in the circumstances.

“So, you’re the boss now, are you?”

“You snooze, you lose,” Nasir said with a shrug.

“That makes no fucking sense, man.”

Nasir smirked and took the empty coffee mug off of Agron’s hands, placing it on the countertop next to his own. “Come on. Be nice and there might be an egg biscuit in it for you.”

He started toward the door and was just about to disappear from sight when Agron finally pushed himself off the counter and followed after him.

“With bacon?”

“Is there any other kind?”


	14. Chapter 14

“Thanks for sticking around tonight,” Agron said as he slipped the joint between his lips. The flame from the lighter shone bright for a moment, making the skin on his palm glow orange in the growing darkness.

Waiting for a late night delivery was always a pain in the ass, but especially on a Sunday when most of the guys were out and the lot was empty and there was little else to do but sit around stewing in your own misery. And as much as Agron would have generally preferred solitude over having to force small talk with anyone, tonight he found he was glad of the company. Then again, that might have had more to do with the company in question than anything else.

“That’s alright,” Nasir shrugged and slid down against the corrugated iron to sit beside him on the ground. His jeans had a rip above the knee, Agron noticed. He looked away and took a deep drag of the joint before passing it on. He made a solemn vow to keep his eyes to himself from then on

“It’s either this or sitting in a piss-stained apartment, with three roommates behind the door constantly bumming me for money ‘cause I’m the one with a job. So, you win.” Nasir blew a smoke ring into the air and smirked to himself. “I mean, it’s a close call, but still.”

Agron smiled. “Well, thanks anyway.”

They transitioned quickly into a silence after that, but it was one of those rare comfortable ones where not-talking wasn’t the enemy. Where you didn’t need to speak just to make a sound and there weren’t any voids to fill.

Then a very familiar wail of a guitar caught his ear, wading from the radio inside the garage, and Agron smiled a little wider to himself and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. And it didn’t take him long before he found himself humming along with the lyrics as he drummed his fingers on his thigh.

“ _...There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief...”_

“Is this the one you were playing earlier, when we were fixing up the Mazda? I know I’ve heard it before, but can’t remember where and now it’s bugging me.”

Agron’s fingers froze and he opened his eyes and peered at the man sitting beside him, trying to make out if he was kidding or not. It looked alarmingly like he wasn’t.

“‘All Along the Watchtower’?” he asked in a sudden state of panic, “You don’t know ‘All Along the Watchtower’?” How could he have spent all those hours in a tattoo shop without having heard that?

But Agron only got a blank stare in return.

“‘All Along the Watchtower?’ Jimi Hendrix? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of Jimi Hendrix.”

Nasir turned his face away abruptly and stared down at his feet. “Of course I’ve heard of Hendrix, I’m not a fucking idiot,” he said, sounding wounded. “Just never been invested enough to learn all his songs by heart. That’s not a crime, you know.”

Agron let out a deep breath, suddenly feeling deflated, like a pricked balloon slowly giving out all its air. He nudged his legs against Nasir’s, but the man was still stubbornly avoiding his eyes.

“Hey...”

He nudged him again and this time the other man finally looked up.

“Look, no big deal, man. It just means your educational history is critically lacking and something we need to rectify ASA fucking P.”

Nasir raised an eyebrow over brightening eyes, and Agron started to feel like himself again.

“I’ve got some records you need to listen to.”

“Records? How old _are_ you?”

Agron groaned in desperation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine. We’ll get you that digital shit then, I don’t really care. Just proper _music_ , you know.”

“Whatever you say, grampa.”

So relieved that the crisis of sad eyes was averted, Agron didn’t even feel the need to start arguing and only returned Nasir’s smile and drew in another mouthful of smoke just as the last verse started.

“When we were kids, we used to take Dad’s old car for a ride every weekend and belt this shit out of the stereos all day,” he said absentmindedly, flicking ash on the sand. The hazy images came and went, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. “Duro, Jake, me, Hendrix and Dad's ‘78 Caprice. That’s some classy shit right there.”

And if this was the first time in forever he’d spoken of Duro without the accompanying urge to scream at the sky or break something, then he didn’t want to think about why that was. He’d rather blame it on the pot.

He passed the cigarette back to Nasir only to find him frowning and looking confused.

“What?”

“Who’s Jake? You’ve never said you have another brother before.”

Agron shook his head and held back a chuckle.

The memories were a bit of a jumbled mess after all this time, but at least he could still remember how new it all had felt back then. The way the tarp of Jake's pick-up truck scraped against his back and the smell of sweat and sex on his skin, mixed with a hint of diesel.

His first taste of cum. It had taken some getting used to.

“Nah, man...he’s not my brother, just a...” He scratched the back of his neck and smirked briefly, but then quickly checked himself and cleared his throat. “Jake was a...mate.”

“A mate, huh?”

Agron blinked and tried to keep himself together. Weed never had much of an impact on him apart from smoothing out the sharpest of edges, and he was sure the joint was mostly tobacco anyway, but he must have been higher than he thought, because he realized he suddenly found that particular word decidedly funnier than it really should have been.

“Mm-hmm, a mate,” he repeated and bit his lip.

“And was he a...good mate?”

Agron made a so-so gesture with his hand and Nasir burst into fits of laughter.

“Come on, we’re being unfair,” Agron chided while trying his best not to laugh himself, “It was years ago, I’m sure he’s gotten better since.”

“Have _you_?”

“No need. I’m a natural.”

Silence fell, and this time it was just as awkward as it was supposed to be.

“Right... So anyway, sibling-wise there’s just me and Duro.” He paused. “Was...There _was_ just us...” The joint between his fingers was on its last legs; it was starting to burn his skin. “Fucking Batiatus.” Agron took a last drag of the cigarette, exhaling slowly, watching the smoke rising into the night sky until it finally disappeared in front his eyes. _Poof_. Like a magic trick.

Hendrix had already finished a long time ago, and now they were playing some top 40 bullshit Agron had no interest in, just as his phone buzzed with a text.

The delivery truck was waiting at the gate.

Agron scrambled up to his feet, dusting dirt off his jeans before he flicked the butt of the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the toe of his boot.

“Better lock up here and let them in.”

He walked inside to turn off the radio and then went to grab his keys from the table, when he heard Nasir’s footsteps behind him on the concrete floor. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man lean against the hood of Crixus’ Camaro that was still waiting for its spare axel. It would probably be waiting there for a while still.

“I’m gonna go to Vegas with Spartacus. I wanted to tell you myself before you heard it somewhere else.”

Nasir’s voice was quiet but still carried the kind of no-nonsense tone that left no room for argument. Agron blinked a few times, until his brows knitted together in a frown.

“O-kay,” he started slowly, drawing out the syllables. “So tell me, is this suicidal behavior a new thing for you or has it been going on for a while?”

“I’m not joking, Agron.”

“Neither am I.”

The other man gave a frustrated sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair. His ponytail had loosened at some point, and now it was all falling on his shoulders like some ink-black waterfall. The overhead lighting was hard and unforgiving, giving everything inside the room a sickly bluish hue, but somehow when it came to Nasir the effect ended up being the opposite. For a moment he looked almost otherworldly. Angelic.

Agron quickly shook his head in an effort to sober himself up; maybe he really was more stoned than he had realized.

“They’re all knowingly walking into a death trap, and you’re just gonna follow them? When you barely know Crixus and sure as hell don’t know Naevia. Why the fuck would you do that?”

“They need someone to hack in and bypass the security systems; I’m the only one here who knows how,” the man said, keeping his face unreadable. “ _And_ it’s the right thing to do.”

Agron snorted and raised his eyebrows, wholly unconvinced.

“So you’re gonna be some fucking knight in a shining armor, then? Isn’t that Crixus’ job?”

“Weren’t you the one who once told me it was about time I took control of things and did something with my life? That I was wasting my potential running around doing what Días and all the other shitheads wanted. That I could do _more_?”

_I didn’t mean killing yourself._

“I need to do this, Agron.”

_Please god, no. Not again._

But as Agron took in the raised chin and clenched jaw and the stubbornness behind the eyes, he knew it was a lost cause.

A lost chance?

Maybe.

But they both had their own lives to live and choices to make – and their own mistakes. And Agron hardly was Nasir’s keeper. Which probably was for the best anyway; his track record in the matter wasn’t exactly stellar.

“Your funeral, kid, not mine.” He grabbed his keys and turned to go, signaling to Nasir to follow him out. The man obeyed him without another word.

And when Agron rode in for work the next morning, Nasir was already driving Spartacus’ Ford Transit halfway up the I15.

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, 14 chapters in and we're still no further than the third episode of Vengeance with the plot (*sigh*)... But hey, thanks so much for sticking around! And I'll try to get things moving along a little faster from now on ;)

 

Agron heard the doorbell but never moved, only kept running his fingers along the backs of the vinyls as he looked for the right one. Soon enough, he heard Saxa’s voice behind him again followed by an extra pair of footsteps.

“Your man here brought pizza,” she said and Agron could hear the sofa springs squeaking under her as she resumed her position. “Apparently his fucking talents are endless.”

“ _Especially_ my fucking talents,” Donar shot back. “I can show you if you want.”

“Keep it in your pants, dude. I’ll rather have the pizza.”

Agron ignored their bickering as he continued his search. He quickly bypassed all the Jimi Hendrix, then hesitated a moment over the vintage Sabbath but in the end wound up settling on Morrison.

“How’s this?” he asked when he finally turned around and walked over to the sofa, nodding a greeting to Donar who was now lounging on the lone armchair on the other side of the DIY coffee table.

Saxa made a pleased sound. “Well, you can never go wrong with a little L.A. Woman. Definitely in the top five of all women, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Agron said, lifting her legs and making her scoot over as he took a seat beside her on the couch. She scoffed and prodded his side with her toe.

“That’s the problem with you one-trick ponies. No imagination.”

“I have–”

“Still not sleeping with you, Donar.”

The man huffed but seemed to be easily appeased by to the slice of pepperoni and extra cheese that found its way in his hand. Agron was just about to reach for a slice of his own when he heard his phone going off on the kitchen counter.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Saxa asked licking oil off her fingers.

Agron paused for a moment, hand in the air, but in the end opted for the pizza. “Probably the same guy from the phone company trying to sell me an upgrade. If I have to talk to him for another second, I’m just gonna break his fucking neck. No way about it.”

“Hard to do from the phone,” Donar said idly.

“I’ll find a way,” Agron replied and took another bite. The phone rang one more time and then went quiet. “There ya go.” He smiled to himself and picked up a piece of pepperoni that was about to slide off the side. The phone started ringing again.

Agron frowned and looked up. And the next moment, Donar’s phone went off, too.

The two of them shared a look before Agron quickly scrambled to his feet, throwing his half-eaten slice back in the box, and made a dash to the kitchen, biting back the curses as he ran.

 

* * *

 

He could see the lights of the city glowing in the horizon and started to tap his fingers against the steering wheel. It wouldn’t get them there any sooner, but it was the one nervous habit he allowed himself to have this night.

There was a muted snort from the passenger seat, and Agron looked over to the woman sitting there. She was looking out the side window, her profile sharp against the orange glow of the passing street lights.

“What?”

Mira ran her fingers through her hair and leaned back on her seat with a sigh. “When I told Spartacus I wanted a vacation in Mexico, this was not exactly what I had in mind.”

Agron smiled grimly but didn’t reply only turned his eyes back to the road and then checked the mirror to see if Donar was still on his tail. He was.

“So it was Batiatus all along,” she continued. “What were the odds?”

Agron let out a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Should’ve known the Syrian was too much of an idiot to keep an operation like that going on his own. And leave it to good old Quintus to smell the blood in the fucking water and take over.”

“His wife, too, huh?”

“Apparently.”

A beat of silence followed. The road sign said it was 23 kilometers to the next town; he was too tired to try to do the math but assumed that however many miles it was, it wouldn’t be too many.

“Weird to think a woman could do that.”

Agron gave a short, incredulous laugh and raised his eyebrow at her. “Is it now? What happened to that whole spiel about women being able to do anything a man can?”

She sighed. “I know, I know...But it’s not your average business, now is it? And there are children involved, how could a mother ever do that?”

“Monsters come in all sizes, Doc.”

Whether she wanted to reply to that or not, she never got the chance when the phone in her lap started buzzing. She answered it on the first ring and Agron watched her nod silently for a moment, before she ended the call with a simple “got ya.”

“Gannicus says it’s the first turn after the gas station. Last house on the street.”

“What gas sta–”

The green Pemex sign came suddenly to view from behind a bend, and Agron allowed himself the briefest of smiles as he slowly shook his head, cursing under his breath.

“Fucking mick’s our own little GPS device,” he said and then glanced at Mira again. “You’ve got your gun?”

The woman nodded and took the Glock out of the glove compartment, along with Agron’s spare. She checked the magazines and reloaded. “We’re ready.”


	16. Chapter 16

“So now what?” Donar asked.

Agron watched the empty street for a moment. It was a rundown neighborhood and only one of the houses there looked lived in, and even that had no lights on or cars out front. He glanced at the two trucks they had left further away at the curb and then at Spartacus’ Transit that was parked in the cul-de-sac next to a dark sedan he didn’t recognize.

“It’s a simple grab ‘n’ go. You take Naevia and get the hell out of here before anyone comes looking for her, and I go find Spartacus with the rest.” His eyes never left the sedan as he spoke. “Anybody know whose car that is?”

He glanced over at Mira and then at the men on either side of her, but none of them seemed to have any idea, and Agron looked back towards the house and grabbed his gun tighter. He could have said he had a bad feeling about it all, but there was no use stating the obvious.

They walked up the dark driveway to the house, lining themselves flat against the wall and Agron finally took a surreptitious look inside through the front window. Just in case. The house was supposed to be secure, but then they all knew better than to assume these things outright.

He could hear Donar step up behind him and then felt a hiss of air beside his ear.

“Shit.”

Agron couldn't exactly disagree.

Despite the awkward angle, it was still possible to see most of what was inside from where they stood. The house was a small bungalow with a front room – the one they were looking at – a closed-off kitchen on one side and two closed doors on the other, probably housing a bedroom and a bathroom respectively. But in the end, it wasn’t the architecture or the shoddy interior that caught Agron’s eye.

The first thing he focused on was Naevia who was slumped on a dining chair in the middle of the floor. Tied and gagged and bruised bad enough that her right eye had swollen shut and blood was dripping down her chin from the deep gash on her lip. It may have been the lighting, but her dark skin had a sickly yellow tint and it looked like she was drugged – and probably had been for quite some time. She was staring up at a bulky, Russian looking man who had a handgun nearly shoved in her face. His twin and another man – clutching on to their AK47s – were standing guard at the back door. Next to them, there was a man’s body sprawled face-down on the floor, blood pooling around the head. Agron recognized the snake tattoo on the arm and swallowed.

Liscus.

And then finally his eyes fell on the last living person in the room, a slim middle-aged man with a worn out face. One that Agron unfortunately recognized. It was Batiatus himself. His general involvement wasn't exactly a surprise, but it was not like him to be this hands-on with a witness. Evidently at some point Naevia must have seen something she really shouldn’t have. And now she was paying the price.

They all eased away from the window, making sure they hadn’t been seen.

“Simple grab ‘n’ go, huh?”

Agron glared at Donar but didn’t reply, being too busy trying to find a way to jam this new development into their existing plan. It wouldn’t be easy.

Agron was good with his fists and even better with a gun in his hand; taking out people was never the problem, but rescue operations were another story. As much as he might have wanted to believe otherwise, he knew he just wasn't a goddamn strategist. Unlike Spartacus who had had a full career in the Navy or even Gannicus who was special ops. If it was up to Agron, they would probably not get anyone out of there alive – himself included.

He looked over to Mira and she nodded quickly in reply. It may have been years since her last tour in Iraq, but it seemed easy enough to slip back into that role, and she wasted no time laying out the plan.

“Okay. We have no time to do any tactical strikes here, so we just have to hope surprise will get us far enough. Me and Agron will go through the front door. Donar, you head to the back with Brictius. Give us a sign once you’re ready. Then we’re in on a count of three. No hesitation, no bullshit. Agron will take Batiatus, you two will handle the Russians and I’ll cover in case there are more of them hiding in the cupboards. Keep your heads and remember you have only one priority: secure Naevia and don’t let those assholes get to her before we do. We’re not gonna run in randomly and just shoot the place up, okay? That way everybody ends up dead, and I didn’t drive all this way to be patching up dead people.”

Once she was done, Donar glanced at Agron briefly and Agron cocked his head towards the back of the house. Donar nodded, and the two men quickly disappeared around the corner, while Agron and Mira carefully took their place at the door. If the muted conversation continuing inside was any indication, they hadn’t been spotted yet.

“I hope your aim is as good as I remember, I’m not planning on getting killed tonight.”

Agron looked over his shoulder and answered her with a half-hearted smile, and then he could already hear Donar’s faint birdcall coming from the back.

_One._

_Two._

_Three..._

  


* * *

  


Mira was busy taking care of Naevia, and Donar and Brictius were still clearing the rest of the house, when Agron shoved Batiatus on his knees on the floor and pressed a gun against his head.

“You can’t kill me.”

“And why the fuck not?” Agron pushed the barrel a little closer to the man’s skin.

“Because I’m the only one who knows where your boss is now. It would take you days to find him on your own if you ever could. And anyway, by then it will be too late.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Agron asked with a sneer. The smug grin on the other man’s face was almost enough for him to lose the last ounce of self-control he possessed, and he gripped onto the handle of his gun a little tighter.

“You drive me there, make a deal with my men and get your president back.” Batiatus shrugged nonchalantly. “Or you can kill me now and know that you’re also pulling the trigger on him.”

“Look, you fucking–”

“Agron...”

He caught Mira’s eye across the floor. He sighed and grudgingly pulled the gun away, letting his hand drop back to his side.

“I guess today is your lucky day then, asshole.”

Batiatus smirked wider, and Agron allowed his fist one sideways swing that sent the man down on the floor. Having his hands tied behind his back, he was struggling to get up again, but Agron was more than happy to leave him flopping on the ground like a fish and simply walked over to Naevia, who was quickly being taken out of the rest of her restraints. He bent on one knee in front of her to better catch her eye but did his best not to touch and to keep his distance; the woman seemed spooked enough as it was.

“What happened? I know Spartacus took you back here, but why did Batiatus...” But she was hardly paying attention, only looking somewhere over Agron’s shoulder. “...Naevia? Did you hear me?”

“Please,” she said abruptly, looking down at Agron with desperation. Her voice was hoarse and rose barely above a whisper and her nails were sinking into Agron’s skin. “You have to help him...he saved my life. Please.”

“Who...”

Her eyes strayed to that same spot behind Agron’s back, and finally Agron turned around and saw that she was looking into the small kitchen in the corner, separated from the rest of the room by a banged up folding door. He could see a pair of man’s legs sticking out of the doorway, the rest of him hidden from view by the fridge. Agron could only hope he wasn’t the man she was talking about; there was no helping him.

“Mira!”

Donar’s voice carried over from behind the corner, and the woman quickly got up from the floor and rushed over, disappearing into the kitchen. Agron rose to his feet.

He had a sudden sinking feeling that he knew who it was. He knew it wasn’t Liscus. It wasn’t Spartacus or Crixus. It could have been Rhaskos, Tychos... But somehow, Agron was sure now that it wouldn’t be. It was a cold stone that slowly settled in his digestive tract and refused to leave.

“Please...”

He peeled Naevia’s hands off of his and turned from her and headed towards the corner, his thumb brushing back and forth over the steel of his gun as he walked. He stepped over the body lying halfway over the threshold and looked across the small room to the back where Donar and Mira squatted next to a body sprawled against the wall.

The man’s dark hair was matted and wet, curling around his face, his brown skin had taken on an ashen color and the front of his grey shirt was covered in blood. There was blood splattered over the wallpaper behind him and smeared on the floor tiles that Agron assumed once upon a time had been white.

Donar noticed his appearance and looked up. “Agron...”

But for the moment all Agron could do was stare straight ahead as he slowly walked over and then crouched down in front of Nasir’s slumped body. He ignored Donar and Mira on either side of him, just like he ignored the way his hand was shaking when he reached out to hold Nasir’s chin up to better see his face. Agron wasn’t expecting much, so when the man’s eyes fluttered open, it was nearly enough to send him flat on his back in surprise. The gaze was pained and a little unfocused but the eyes locked into Agron’s, and for a second nothing else existed in the world. And the sudden wave of momentary relief mixed with guilt and ice-cold dread and something else Agron didn’t yet have a name for hit him like an eighteen-wheeler, knocking all the air out of him in the process.

And then the chin resting on Agron’s fingers became just that much heavier again, and Agron had to swallow just to keep his throat from closing completely.

It was a strange feeling, like he wasn’t exactly sure if he wanted to throw up, burst into tears or just start randomly shooting at things. He gripped the gun tighter in his hand as he got up, running his thumb over the hammer at the back. Guess he could always start with one and then work his way up the list.

“Agron...”

He turned abruptly and was about to walk out the room when a firm grip on his shoulder stopped him.

“Come on now, don’t lose focus. The boy’s alive; Mira will see to him.”

Agron looked at Donar’s face and then turned back to the room now in front of him. His eyes fell on Batiatus’ kneeling form on the floor.

Donar stepped up to stand in front of him and grabbed his arm. “No use for you to linger. Take that piece of shit and go and do what you gotta do. We’ll clear out here.”

It took Agron another moment to silence all the added noise in his head, before he finally nodded. “I’ll see you when we get back home.”

Donar patted his arm but never gave an answer. Not that he needed to, the ‘if you get back’ was showing clear enough on his face.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about leaving you with another cliffhanger. I should have more of a conclusion ready for you next time. Promise.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to say, I was a little tempted to just start this chapter with “two weeks later...”, because I've come to realize I'm really crap at this whole action business. But that said...here's some more action for you... (And I'm afraid Nasir is still MIA for now, but he'll reappear in chapter 19.)

 

Agron pulled the sedan over at the side of the curb. He could see the building at the end of the street; the old warehouse sign was still hanging from the concrete wall. Barely.

“Why are we stopping here? The gate’s that way, idiot.”

The ride over had nearly had Agron lose the will to live already, and he barely had the energy to even glare at the other man any longer.

“We’re walking in,” he answered curtly and put the gear in park. “If I’m going to be a sitting duck, then at least I’m going to have a gun to your head while I’m doing it.”

“Well, then give me your phone and I’ll call the head of security to let us in the gate.”

Agron laughed out loud. “How stupid do you think I am? You give me the number, I’ll call them.”

“Cruz only speaks Spanish.”

Agron gave him a dirty look and pressed on. “The number?”

Finally Batiatus relented and started reciting the numbers as Agron kept pressing the buttons on the throwback prepaid. He raised the phone to his ear and tapped his finger over the shell as he waited for the other end to pick up.

“ _Sí, digame.”_

Agron glanced at Batiatus before speaking, putting on the fakest, most exaggeratingly polite voice he could muster. “Puedo hablar con el señor Cruz, por favor?”

“ _Sí, sí...soy yo,”_ the man on the line confirmed with a yawn, sounding as disinterested as a person possibly could, _“Quién es este?”_

“Quintus Batiatus,” Agron answered, and then he pressed the phone next to Batiatus’ ear with one hand and his gun against his temple with the other. “Tell him we’re walking in.”

Surprisingly, the other man actually held up his end of the bargain seamlessly, and not long after that Agron was already maneuvering them both out of the car.

They made it to the curb, with Batiatus stumbling on his feet as Agron kept ushering him to move in front of him. Then the older man nearly fell to his knees on the asphalt, and Agron was too busy trying to haul him up again that the moment he heard the click of the gun behind him, the barrel was already pressing in the back of his neck.

“Suéltale.”

The voice behind him was cool much like the steel against Agron’s skin. He didn’t obey, however, instead forced Batiatus to stay down, pressing his own gun to his head.

“Sorry, but I’m not gonna do that,” he answered.

“And I’m not going to ask again.”

At that point Agron could see four more figures with their guns drawn emerging from the shadows and towards the flickering streetlight in front of him. They were all dressed in khaki overalls with ski masks covering most of their faces. There was a snort coming from the sidewalk beside him and Agron glared down at the man, only to be met with the kind of smile that made him just want to pull the trigger there and then, consequences be damned.

“And you actually thought your president was here,” Batiatus said and then smirked even wider. There was a trickle of blood running down his chin from the cut on his lip. “You should have realized by now I don’t exactly play fair. I only play to win.”

Agron stared at him for a moment longer before looking back at the four barrels now pointing straight at him. He closed his eyes for a second and then dropped the gun to the ground and held up his hands.

“Wise choice,” the voice behind him said. And then Agron could already feel a hand grabbing his shoulder roughly from behind and forcing him to move.

Their little convoy made it to the gate, and the guard there quickly waved them in once he saw Batiatus with them.

“You might end up hearing some unpleasant noises from back there in the next ten minutes or so,” Batiatus told the man as they passed him, “If that were to happen, there’s no need to bother yourself with it. I’ve got it under control. Understood?”

The guard took one look at Agron and then nodded quickly in reply. Batiatus in turn flashed Agron another smile, and Agron took a half-step forward, but the gun pressing at the back of his neck quickly stopped him on his feet. And then he was moving again, in the other direction, as the man behind him kept shoving him along towards the other end of the empty parking lot.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. You were faster than I imagined,” Batiatus said, once they reached the row of dumpsters at the back. “Usually it takes Cruz about fifteen minutes just to get off his ass and call for back-up.”

“So...What do you want us to do now?”

Agron watched as the older man’s head snapped up at the voice, and then his gloating smirk turned into a frown.

“I didn’t know we hired women,” he said to no one in particular, sounding confused as he peered at the four mask covered faces in front of them.

“You don’t, and there was your first mistake,” she said in response and then turned her attention back to the man still standing behind Agron, “Sorry, but can I take this thing off now, it’s fucking boiling in here.”

Once she apparently got the okay, Saxa quickly pulled off the ski mask and ruffled her hair. The men beside her soon did the same. And although seeing the faces didn’t come as a complete surprise, it was still a relief to see them all there: Lugo, Tychos, Gannicus...

The gun on Agron’s neck disappeared and soon enough the man behind him also walked over to join the rest. The biggest relief of all.

Spartacus.

“What...” Batiatus’ baffled stare darted from one person to the next. “What the fuck is this? Where the fuck did you come from? Where are my men?”

Spartacus stared back at him stone faced while Gannicus mimicked shooting a gun with his hand. Batiatus turned his attention back to Agron.

“But how did you...”

“We tracked Spartacus’ phone. It was pretty simple, really. Also, that paper trail you thought you didn’t leave about this place...We found it weeks ago.”

A lot of that was owed to Nasir. Then again, a lot was owed to Nasir in general after tonight.

“Then why this...charade?”

“The quickest way to get us through the gate,” Spartacus answered evenly. “Less hassle than shooting our way in.”

“Though I would’ve done it just to see you make that face, asshole,” Gannicus added with a grin.

Agron pressed down the cold dread that still kept stubbornly creeping up his spine and forced on a sneer. “Sometimes you gotta love life’s little coincidences, don’t ya?”

He reached for the gun Gannicus was holding out for him, but before he had closed the distance, Batiatus suddenly charged for the weapon himself. He was closer to Gannicus than Agron was, and was almost able to make it between them, but a gunshot echoing in the abandoned parking lot stopped him at the last moment.

Agron watched the man’s body hit the ground as if in slow motion, watched the blood splattering on the asphalt, but somehow the satisfaction that he had always expected to be feeling at that moment never really arrived.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t pulled the trigger himself. Maybe it was because another dead body didn’t really change anything, after all. It wouldn’t bring anyone back.

He shook off the thought and looked back up at Spartacus, while Lugo and Tychos were already busy hauling the body into one of the dumpsters nearby.

“Your accent is more convincing than I remembered. You actually had me worried there for a second.”

Spartacus answered him with a tired smile as he slipped his gun back into the holster hanging from his belt.

“So Mira did finally reach you, then?” Agron continued and then finally took his own gun back from Gannicus’ outreached hand. “That was all still up in the air when I left.”

“About time we had a little luck around here,” Spartacus said absentmindedly. He was watching after Batiatus’ body as it disappeared inside the rusty container, and then he looked at Agron again.

“Liscus?”

Agron shook his head.

“And Nasir...”

“Hanging in there.” But that had been a good hour ago; only god knew how he was doing now.

Thankfully, that particular train of thought was quickly interrupted by Gannicus who had already taken off his overalls and was now handing them over. Agron started pulling them on while Gannicus himself was straightening the lapels of a business jacket that looked a little too nice for a detective's salary – and about half a size too small. Agron didn't really need, or want, to know where they had gotten it from, so he decided to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Batiatus said something on the drive over,” he started as he took the cap Saxa was holding out to him and pulled it over his head, “I think you all need to hear it, before we go in.”

“Let me guess, bad news?” Gannicus retorted with a grim smile as he kept smoothing his hair back into a tight ponytail.

“The building’s rigged,” Agron answered ignoring him and turning his attention to Spartacus and the others. “He was careful not to leave any witnesses behind if the shit hit the fan. Not even anyone from the staff knows; just him, his wife and Ashur.”

Silence fell and Agron watched Spartacus take a deep breath and then run a hand roughly over his face before he finally turned to Saxa and Lugo.

“Look, I won’t ask you to stick around and die for this. You’re doing us a favor as is. It’s not your club; it’s not your problem.”

“We’re in, ain’t we lassie?” Lugo said and Saxa nodded beside him.

“Never been one to be scared of a little fireworks. And anyway, these assholes give a bad name to the industry. Someone should sort them out, might as well be me.”

Spartacus nodded and the pair quickly disappeared around the corner. Spartacus then threw a set of keys at Tychos. “Take Hansen’s car and get rid of the body. And be thorough. We don’t need any more complications.” Then he looked at Gannicus. “Still in?”

The Irishman flashed him a smirk as he adjusted his tie. “You know me, nothing like a bomb scare to get the old juices going.”

“Agron?”

Their stare held for a second, and then Agron zipped the overalls close and clipped on his gun belt. “I didn’t come all this way just to play patty cakes. Let’s do this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sí, digame.” = “Yes, hello.”  
> “Puedo hablar con el señor Cruz, por favor?” = “Can I speak to Mr. Cruz, please?”  
> “Sí, sí...soy yo. Quién es este?” = “Yes, yes...that’s me. Who is this?”  
> “Suéltale.” = “Let him go.”
> 
> P.S. My Spanish is even worse than my English, so please do correct me if I just ended up insulting someone’s mother in there by accident or something... ;-)


	18. Chapter 18

“Mr. Hansen... Such a pleasure to meet you at last.” The woman’s smile was sickly sweet and Agron had to fight the urge to cringe. He kept his face straight, though, and his eyes downcast – following Spartacus’ lead. Batiatus’ wife had no reason to recognize their faces, but there was no point in drawing her attention to the change in guard.

“Mrs. Batiatus, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

“Lucretia, please.”

Gannicus inclined his head slightly. “Lucretia.”

She giggled softly and Agron tapped his fingers quietly against the Glock hanging from his belt. Being confined inside this shithole of a building was making him jittery enough; they didn’t need to waste time flirting with the enemy – literally or otherwise.

The woman then began to lead them along the narrow corridor towards the double doors at the end. She walked in front, followed by Gannicus, leaving Agron and Spartacus to bring up the rear. Their footsteps echoed from the bare walls.

“I never saw your driver pull in the yard, Mr. Hansen,” Lucretia said breezily over her shoulder. “I hope there wasn’t any trouble getting in?”

Agron and Spartacus exchanged a quick look, but Gannicus didn’t sound the least bit bothered by the question.

“He had some business I needed to be taken care of,” he said simply.

“Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“Just an errand.”

“Good.”

She stopped by the two steel plate doors. They felt out of place in the old brick building somehow, reminding Agron of a slaughterhouse or a butcher’s backroom. She grabbed both handles and then pushed the doors open in an overly theatrical manner.

“Here we go. Welcome to paradise.”

It looked more like hell.

The business they were in had forced Agron to see more than his fair share of brothels and strip clubs. And perhaps it was only his lack of interest in the goods provided, but he always found the places to be nothing more than tired and depressing, with their dark lighting, clichéd velvet interiors and stained carpets, and bored looking women gyrating half-heartedly on the laps of middle-aged businessmen.

This place, however, was nothing like that. There were no stripper poles, no plush sofas and dark corners, no mood lighting or soft music. The room they walked in looked more like a factory hall with its solid concrete floors and walls. The windows on either side had been boarded shut, and the low ceiling and harsh red-tinted lighting somehow gave the feeling they were standing several feet underground and not ground level.

There were a few wooden chairs lined up beside the doorway, one of them occupied by a man who was dressed much like Agron and Spartacus were. Beyond that, there was little in terms of furniture in the room. But then there would have been no place for it anyway as the vast majority of floor space was already taken by something else.

Agron felt bile rise up in his throat and he swallowed it down, trying to hide the nervous tick of his fingers by grabbing the handle of the gun tighter. He looked over at Gannicus whose face displayed little emotion to the casual observer, but knowing the man as he did, Agron could see the nonchalance came with a price. The years in vice may have hardened him to scenes like this, but even a man like him wasn’t made of stone.

There were rows of Plexiglas walled cells on either side of the room, leaving just enough space in the middle for a corridor. The woman’s heels clicked on the hard concrete as she walked to the first of the cells on the left side and turned back around to face them.

“As you can see, we have followed your instructions to the letter, Mr. Hansen. I can only hope you find everything to be satisfactory.”

Gannicus’ gaze lingered on the two chained figures on the mattress inside the confined space for a moment before he looked back at her. “It should do,” he answered, succeeding to sound almost bored and causing her smile to falter a faction.

“If there is anything else you need, I can always try and–”

The man waved off the concern. “This is enough. And now, I would prefer to get on with it, if you don’t mind. I don’t have all night.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and took out several bills from the wallet, handing them over.

Her eyes flicked over to Agron and Spartacus and then back to Gannicus again.

“As you wish.” She took the money with a small smile and gave him a set of keys in return. “You have two hours.”

She left him with a nod of her head and Agron and Spartacus followed her out into another narrow corridor without further prompt. The doors closed behind them with a swoosh and a click.

The office at the back was more brightly lit than the rest of the building but nearly just as sparsely furnished. There was a desk on the right hand side and a lonely computer standing on top of it, showing a black and white live feed of the security cameras inside the building. One of the guards was leaning back in a metal chair, looking somewhere in the direction of the screen while he kept idly picking his finger nails. Two more guards were in wait by the back door with assault rifles in their hands.

And then there was Ashur, standing in the middle of the floor, staring at the man tied into a fairly rickety looking chair by the side wall.

“I hope everything went okay?” the Syrian said as he finally turned his attention from Crixus and back to Lucretia.

“Yes, Mr. Hansen seemed pleased.”

Ashur snorted. “At least that makes one of us. This fucking shit just won’t stop complaining.” He wiggled his gun towards Crixus, who glowered back and then struggled some more against the duct tape wrapped around his mouth and torso. He was able to make a good amount of noise even if it was clear that any movement he made was produced with great effort. There was a large splatter of blood on the front of his shirt that was growing darker by the second.

Lucretia sighed and rolled her eyes before suddenly turning to Agron, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Please, can you do something to quiet that? I’m getting a headache just looking at him.”

Agron stole another quick look from Spartacus, before he slowly walked up to Crixus’ chair. The cap of his hat was still hiding his face and the other man only started struggling against his binds again as Agron came closer. So he took the man roughly by his tied wrists and yanked the arms backwards, twisting them into a position that he knew could not have been pleasant. He then leaned in as close to his ear as he could.

“Naevia’s alive and we need to get the hell out of here. So calm the fuck down and follow our lead, okay?”

Follow their lead to do what exactly, Agron wouldn't have been able to say. But thankfully this wasn't the time to be going over any details, anyway.

When he walked back to Spartacus’ side, he could see Lucretia giving him a surprised look and a smile as she glanced back at the much more quieted down version of Crixus now sitting on the chair.

“You must teach me how to do that sometime.”

Agron knew that the smile he gave in return was so forced, it probably looked more like a grimace.

They were confined in a room with no windows or clear exits, outmanned five to three – or two, since Crixus really didn’t look like he was in a condition to be fighting anyone this night – and who knew how many more men were waiting outside the doors. It wasn’t exactly the first time that day that Agron was beginning to question their plan, if you could even call it one. Basically it seemed to consist of a lot of hope-for-the-bests and little else.

But it was too late to back out now; second thoughts meant fuck all when you were already wading elbows deep in shit. And this was his club and these were his brothers; and it might have taken Agron a while to get here, but this was where he was supposed to be. He knew that now.

“Qué putas pasa acá?”

Metal legs scraped against the linoleum floor as the man sitting by the desk suddenly dragged his chair closer to the computer. And when Agron peered over Spartacus’ shoulder at the screen, he could quickly see the reason for the man's reaction.

Gannicus and the rest had worked quicker than expected.

“What is it?” Ashur asked.

The guard had barely turned around halfway on the chair when Spartacus stopped him, pressing the barrel of his gun against his temple. The man sat down again slowly, and Spartacus turned his attention to the woman standing in front of them. Agron already had his weapon trained at her and she had been quick to mirror the gesture.

Behind her, Ashur slowly took out his own gun and pointed it at Spartacus. The two men standing at the back had already done the same.

“We’ll just take Crixus and go, and that way no one needs to get hurt,” Spartacus said evenly. The sound of a hammer being cocked back echoed in the bare room.

Ashur grinned wider. “If you really think that's going to happen, I have a bridge to sell you.”

It was the deafening noise of machine guns firing in the confined space that somehow ended up bothering Agron the most; fear barely even entered the equation. Once the bullets started flying, he had already pretty much given up hope of ever making it out of that room alive. This was real life and not the movies where quick feet was all you needed to keep yourself from getting killed when someone was emptying an AR15 at you. And Agron had enough experience with both to know the difference.

So when everything finally turned deadly silent again around him, it took him a moment to realize that there was a chance he might still be alive after all. Alive, but lying on his back on the floor and having an exceedingly hard time breathing or trying to move.

For a brief moment he wondered where he had been hit – not his head at least. But the pain never surfaced anywhere else either, and when Agron blinked his eyes open and craned his neck, he finally found the real reason behind his sudden paralysis. And when he took a better look at the man's bullet riddled back, Agron realized he wasn't only the reason why Agron had trouble breathing, but most likely the reason Agron was breathing at all.

 _Better you than me_ , he thought grimly.

Slowly, he sat up and pushed the man’s lifeless body off of him, watching it roll over and flop heavily on the floor. He turned his gaze to the back door and saw Spartacus standing in the doorway, gun in hand. And as Agron scanned the floor and took in the mess they had created, it was quickly clear that the other man was the only one left standing in the room. Their eyes met, and Spartacus walked over and wordlessly held out his hand and then hauled Agron up from the ground.

“Someone left the party early, then” Agron said with a wry smile and a nod of his head towards the open door as he clambered back to his feet, wiping blood from his hands on the legs of his overalls, “I wonder why.”

Spartacus huffed a dry laugh and then pulled the bowie knife from his belt and walked up to Crixus.

The moment the man was out of his restraints, he practically leaped out of the chair, but the action was short lived, and he quickly doubled over, crying out in pain.

“Where’s Ashur? Where’s that son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill him.”

He tried his best to charge towards the back door again, but Spartacus quickly had a tight hold of his arm and pulled him back. “The place is rigged. We don’t have the time.” When Crixus still didn’t move, Spartacus grabbed him even harder, forcing them to stand face to face. “Do you want to see Naevia again or just get blown up in here instead?”

The other man yanked his arm free from Spartacus’ grip and then took one last look at the back door and the dark corridor beyond and let out a frustrated groan.

“Let’s fucking go then.”

 

* * *

 

The rain had started out of nowhere, and now it was pounding on the roof and the windows, in a monotonous staccato that filled the silence that had fallen in the car about twenty miles ago. The windshield wipers kept flying back and forth in front of his eyes as Agron kept changing between gripping the wheel and tapping along it with his fingers.

He was missing the feel of handlebars in his hands; it felt like forever since he had last ridden his bike. It might have been yesterday.

“We can switch if you need to rest.”

He glanced at the man sitting on the passenger seat. “I’m fine Spartacus. You’re the one looking like you haven’t slept for three days straight.”

The man shrugged and went back to looking out of the window, and Agron started fiddling with the old radio with nothing better to do kill the time. And if he was being honest, the silence was starting to be a little jarring.

“ _...baby, baby, how was I supposed to know that something wasn’t… You are listening to Air-1, your radio station devoted to sharing the hope of Jesu…And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites… intervalos de chubascos con tormentas muy fuertes._ _Ahora parece que la lluvia va a continuar durante gran parte del…”_

He was about to change the channel again, when Spartacus swatted his hand away and then turned the radio off completely.

It took Agron another long stretch of road until he finally forced himself to find the courage to speak again. He took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?”

Spartacus peeled his eyes away from the window and stared back at him. He didn’t say anything but the look on his face told Agron that he needed to continue.

“If I’d come with you, then maybe–”

“Then maybe you’d be dead like Liscus and Rhaskos or with a bullet in your gut like Crixus and half of the others,” Spartacus said and then rubbed his face and groaned as he let his head fall back against the seat. “I’m starting to think that maybe you made the right call after all.”

The president looked like he needed a drink, maybe a whole bottle – maybe two – but the best Agron could do in the circumstances was to keep talking. Holding a pep-rally for Spartacus of all people was not how he had expected this night to end, but at least it was better than lying in a ditch in Mexico with a bullet between his eyes, so he decided to give it a go. First time for fucking everything.

“You _did_ find Naevia,” he said, “Alive. And got Crixus out of that shithole before it blew up. And all the girls. That’s not nothing.”

Spartacus sighed and looked out of the window again. “Still...there are no winners in this, Agron. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather you and I just called it even and moved on.”

Agron’s fingers started their tap dancing routine again, but he decided he wasn’t going to argue the point any longer, at least tonight, so he turned his attention back to the road ahead. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“And now what?”

“Now we wait for the dust to settle and see where we land.” Spartacus shrugged and once more shifted in his seat. “The cops should be too busy with the mess Batiatus left behind to waste their time looking for trespassers, but who knows how this turns out. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“And Ashur and the wife? They know we were in there.”

“And we know _they_ were there. I really don’t see them going to the feds with this anytime soon, do you?”

“No...”

By now, the rain was coming down in buckets, and it was a struggle just to keep the car on the road, so Agron eased his foot gently off the gas. He wasn’t really in the mood for getting killed in car crash tonight of all nights – as amazingly ironic as that would’ve undoubtedly been.

“So I was thinking...” He let his voice trail off as he waited for the usual reply, but this time Spartacus stayed quiet, and when Agron glanced over, the man looked back with what almost looked like genuine interest. It was probably the biggest encouragement he was ever going to get, so Agron quickly plowed on.

“Maybe it would be best if Naevia stayed at my place for now.”

“Your place?”

“The clubhouse is too big and Crixus’ place is too obvious, and so is yours,” Agron explained, “The house is small enough to keep under check and not the first place anyone would come looking. If they are still planning on getting rid of her, that is.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Yeah well, my thoughts exactly.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Spartacus asked with a frown. “It might take a while to get this whole thing cleared up. She’ll probably need to stay there for some time. A week, maybe two. I didn’t think you’d be looking for a long-term houseguest.”

“Look, if it’s what we need to do, then we’ll do it” Agron said and released his death grip on the wheel long enough to run his fingers through his hair. “At least until Crixus is back in the picture.”

Speaking of which...

Agron glanced in the rearview mirror. It was as dark inside the car as it was outside, but he could still make out the greyish complexion and the ever-growing bloodstains over the man’s shirt.

“Still alive back there?”

Crixus, stretched out on the backseat, stirred and then tried to roll over to his side but ended up only wincing in pain instead. “Fuck you, dingeling,” he groaned and then flopped back on his back, his eyes scrunched closed.

Agron and Spartacus exchanged a look.

“Dingeling?”

“So I’m not my most creative when I'm bleeding to death. Fucking sue me.”

“I will say, it’s catchier than Wiener schnitzel,” Spartacus replied casually.

Agron looked at him and then looked in the mirror, meeting Crixus’ eye.

“Don’t...”

He saw the man’s lips curling up in a mixture of a smile and a pained grimace as he coughed up some more blood.

“Wiener schnitzel dingeling.”

“Fuck off, man.”

He took one last look in the mirror and then quickly glanced back at Spartacus who nodded in return. Agron took the wordless suggestion for what it was and hit the gas pedal a little harder again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Qué putas pasa acá?” = “What the fuck is happening here?”  
> “intervalos de chubascos con tormentas muy fuertes. Ahora parece que la lluvia va a continuar durante gran parte del…”  
> = “intervals of heavy showers and thunderstorms. It now looks like the rain will continue for a big part of...”


	19. Chapter 19

He closed the bedroom door after him as quietly as he could and then gave the dog a scratch behind the ear before continuing towards the flickering blue light of the TV coming from around the corner.

“So everyone’s still counted for back there?”

Agron was too tired to even try and come up with anything intelligent to say and only flopped down on the couch next to the other man, grunting in the affirmative.

“And Nasir?”

“Asleep,” he answered as he double-checked the safety on his gun before dropping the weapon on the coffee table. “Why?”

Their stare held for a second or two, until Donar rolled his eyes and then went back to flipping through the channels.

“I _did_ try to warn you, didn’t I?” he said after another moment of silence, “From the first fucking day. But did you listen? The fuck you did...”

Agron grabbed the remote control from his hand and switched the channel to an old rerun of a sitcom he didn’t remember the name of and then quickly threw the remote out of reach. He leaned heavily against the backrest, rubbing his face with enough force to almost peel off skin.

“So, are we close to being done with the small-talk for tonight? Because I could do with some sleep right about now.”

“And you don’t think the couch is a little small for the two of us?”

“Well tough shit, but we’ve got ourselves a full house,” Agron answered and finally closed his eyes with a sigh. “You’re always welcome to the floor, though.”

That seemed to be enough to stifle further protests, and for a moment Agron enjoyed the mostly blissful silence that quickly fell in the room, interrupted only by lame one-liners and random bursts of canned laughter coming from the TV.

“Just so you know I _will_ be the big spoon.”

And despite everything that had gone on in the last 24 hours – or maybe exactly because of it, and because he was too tired to do anything else – Agron had to laugh.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He could feel Donar punch him on the arm, but ignored him and did his best to settle in his seat, lifting his feet on the coffee table. And then Donar hit him again.

“Agron...”

Grudgingly he opened his eyes and looked over and then followed Donar’s line of sight all the way to the other side of the room.

The other man was still standing in the doorway when their eyes met. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a hesitant smile and what looked a lot like Agron’s sweater. The zip in the front was open, revealing the large bandage running along his left side.

“Hey.”

Agron quickly sat up straighter, trying to return the smile the best he could. It took him a while to first shake off the surprise, though – and the overwhelming sense of relief that now kept washing over him from all sides like a riptide.

“Hey yourself.”

They kept staring at each other for a moment in silence, until the sound of the sofa squeaking and Donar clearing his throat finally broke the sudden awkwardness in the air.

“Well, since neither of you is using the extra bed right now, I’m guessing no one minds if I crash there for an hour or two, right?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and instead just got to his feet and walked across the floor, giving Nasir a quick pat on the arm and Agron one last look over his shoulder before finally disappearing out of the room.

“I didn’t even know you’d come back,” Nasir said, pushing loose strands of hair away from his face as he returned his attention from Donar’s retreating back to Agron’s face again.

“Mira said she gave you something for the pain. You’ve probably been out of it for some time”

“Oh, right.”

“And it looked like you needed the rest. I didn’t want to wake you up for no good reason.”

Nasir opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped midway and raised an eyebrow instead. “But you did check up on me?”

“Part of the job.” Agron shrugged and then decided a change of subject was in order and quickly nodded his head towards the sweater the man was wearing. “Is that mine?”

Nasir succeeded to somehow smile and cringe at the same time as he looked at Agron under his brow. “Yeah, sorry. Mira kind of pushed it on me. I think mine is laying somewhere in the hospital trash by now.” And then he was back to shuffling his feet again, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “And I’m sorry I hogged your bed. I would've gotten out of here earlier, but she wouldn't let me go home alone.” He rolled his eyes. “Like I’m a fucking child or something.”

“Well, Mira likes to boss people around, and it's better just to let her,” Agron said, trying on another smile. “And you really have to stop apologizing for everything, man. You’ve got like twenty stitches in your side, you’re allowed to hog a bed for a few hours.”

“Yeah, I guess. Sor–” He stopped off of Agron’s raised eyebrow and quickly smiled again and shrugged almost theatrically. “Or...whatever.”

Agron shifted on the couch to make more room, and Nasir finally pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered over. The old sofa was a generous three-seater, so Agron was more than a little startled when Nasir ended up landing on the spot right next to him, cringing a little when his side clearly protested the action.

“How’s Crixus?”

“Alive.”

Nasir nodded but didn’t ask any follow-up questions, not that Agron blamed him. He didn’t really feel the need to bring up Liscus or Rhaskos either tonight.

Pete’s nails clicked against the wooden floor somewhere behind them, and then he finally appeared from around the couch and quickly jumped up on the empty seat next to Nasir. He pushed his head in Nasir's lap and kept whining until the man finally relented and scratched his ears. And the dog really wasn't allowed to be up there, but Agron could relate, so he let him be.

“You know, for a while I really thought I’d never make it out of there,” Nasir said, petting the dog absentmindedly as he spoke. “That I’d just die in that shitty kitchen and never see you again. And then suddenly...boom, there you were. I mean, how’s that for weird? I honestly thought I was hallucinating for a second.”

There were a hundred ways to interpret something like that, and about a 99 to 1 chance he’d get it wrong, so Agron decided to make a joke out of it instead. Mostly because that was what he always did, but also because he had had just about enough of thinking and talking about death – Nasir’s or anyone else’s – for one day.

So he forced his own smile to widen. It was starting to hurt his cheeks.

“I told you going to Vegas would be a bad idea.”

“Still not as bad as going to Mexico, though.” Nasir tried to laugh, but the added movement had him soon wincing in more pain and grab his stomach again, and Agron had to use up all of his willpower to keep his own hands still at his side.

“I guess I just wish I could’ve been there with you, you know,” Nasir continued quietly, “And done more.”

Agron shook his head with a sigh. “I think you did enough.” And then, without even fully realizing what he was actually doing, he reached out his hand and let his thumb trace the edge of the bandage. “More than enough. Trust me.”

The TV kept making muted noises in the background and Agron’s touch lingered, along with his eyes. And then he smiled to himself – the kind of smile that didn’t really reach his eyes and only left him sadder at the end – and let out a dry laugh.

“And I honestly thought that after we had sex, that would be that,” he said and shook his head again, “Problem solved.”

“What problem?”

But Nasir’s interruption or the newfound frown on his face barely even registered, and Agron just kept on talking while his thumb was still brushing aimlessly over the man’s skin. “You think it’s just an itch and if you scratch it, it’ll go away. But it doesn’t. And _then_ what the hell are you supposed to do?”

“So... What does that mean? You wanna have sex again?”

Agron looked up abruptly and only then realized he had actually been saying all of that out loud, which definitely had not been the plan. And just like that, he sobered up again and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Never mind, I’m just rambling. It’s sort of been a long day.” He gave another tired laugh and then – again, purely on instinct and without thinking – tucked one errant curl of hair behind Nasir’s ear. “Go back to bed. Mira’s right, you shouldn’t be up yet.”

Nasir pushed the dog gently away but had barely gotten an inch off the couch himself when he abruptly sat back down again.

“But it’s not about just sex, is it?”

And for a second, Agron thought of just acting stupid for one more day, but he was so goddamn tired, he just didn’t have the energy to be playing games anymore. And so he shook his head and then prepared himself for whatever version of ‘I’m flattered, but’ would inevitably be coming next.

But Nasir said nothing, only kept staring at Agron with a look that was now getting dangerously close to stirring up hope at the back of his mind.

“What about the club?”

“I...”

And a part of him really wanted to say “the hell with the club,” wanted to forget about this world and its fucked up rules that said it was okay for him to kill another guy just not to kiss one. And an even bigger part of him wanted to be just as selfish as everyone told him he was and just drag Nasir into this mess with him and not give a shit about the consequences.

“I don't know,” he said finally with a deep sigh.

“Yeah...”

Nasir’s eyes stayed with him for a second, and then he looked away. Dejected. Like he was hurt – actually, physically _hurt_ – and not only from a bullet wound.

“I guess I should go,” he said and finally turned away, taking his time getting up, one hand still holding on to his side.

_Oh, fuck this._

And yes it was selfish, but shit...Couldn’t Agron maybe, just maybe, be allowed to keep this one good thing that he still had left in his life? Couldn’t he at least deserve a go at being happy like everyone else did? Would that really be so bad? Would that really be so fucking _wrong_?

He grabbed Nasir's wrist to keep him in place. “I don’t know,” he said again, “I don’t know what this is or what the hell we should do with it. With us, the club, everything...” He held on a little tighter, knowing that if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon. “But maybe we could...try to figure it out. Together.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“Stay.”

He cupped Nasir’s face with his free hand and leaned in, slow and hesitant, still not completely convinced that this wasn’t all just the universe playing some big practical joke on him. And then he kissed him. Quick and soft. Easy.

The sudden smile on Nasir’s face barely had time to register in Agron’s brain before the other man was already kissing him again, and Agron drew him closer as carefully as he could, slipping his hands under the open sweater. And Nasir was warm and alive under his touch and Agron decided that for tonight that would do; he could worry about the rest later.

When they finally pulled apart, Nasir stayed there, halfway in Agron’s lap, fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck, nose pressing against his cheek.

“I missed you.”

And even more than the words, the _way_ he said it somehow made quick work of knocking down whatever few pretenses Agron had still been able to hang on to up until that moment. But there was nowhere to hide anymore: he knew he was falling, fast and hard. Face down on the asphalt.

Grudgingly, he moved his hands from around Nasir’s waist and tugged at the front of the sweater. “You better zip this up,” he said with a small smile, “or I might forget my manners.”

“And that would be bad because...”

“We’d probably mess up your stiches,” Agron replied and tugged at the hoodie again. “And then Mira will kill me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that.”

“Yeah, I’m already in enough trouble for letting you out of bed.”

The sweater was about two sizes too large, and the way it looked on him was too much like everything Agron had been trying to avoid seeing for the last three months. And now he couldn’t look away.

“So what are we watching?”

And then without warning, Nasir had already squeezed himself in the space between Agron and the back of the sofa, curling around him, molding against his side like he’d always been there, arm snaking lazily around his waist, chin digging in his chest. And it took Agron a while to get his bearings and finally find his voice again.

“Some nineties rerun,” he said and then hesitantly wrapped his own arm over the other man in return. “You can change it if you want.”

“Nah, this is fine.”

“Yeah...”

But it wasn’t fine, Agron already knew that. It was far better than fine;and now he was starting to fear that nothing would be _fine_ ever again.

Nasir dozed off somewhere before the second commercial break. Agron, in turn, was still wide awake when the first rays of the rising sun burst through the glass patio doors and hit the wall behind the TV.


	20. Chapter 20

Agron found Naevia in the kitchen. She was wearing sweatpants and a plain, white t-shirt that hung off her small frame. It could have been Agron’s or maybe something Mira had brought back from the hospital lost and found. Not that it mattered that much to him either way.

“I think you’re burning the eggs.”

She spun around at the sound of his voice and the spatula in her hand nearly dropped to the floor. Agron caught it in mid-air and then carefully took a step back to put some more distance between them.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman shook her head and turned back to the stove and quickly lifted the steaming skillet off the cooktop. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she said with a grim smile that quickly had her wincing and thumbing her split lip. “I’m scared of my own shadow these days.”

Agron made some vague agreeing noises and then grabbed an empty mug from the shelf and poured himself a coffee, mostly just to keep his hands busy. This was so far out of his comfort zone that the counter he was leaning against might as well have been at Victoria’s Secret.

“You don’t have to do any of this, you know that, right? I can feed myself.”

Naevia was still staring into the pan and she shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I’d rather do something, even if it’s just scrambled eggs. Keeps me from thinking about things. Too much.”

Agron was about to say that he understood but then stopped before he had time to start. There was a lot in his life that he rather not think about, but even he knew enough to understand the difference between the kind of shit that keeps you up most nights and the kind that leaves you scaling the walls. So he stayed quiet.

Finally, she looked up and put on another smile that was almost leaning towards genuine this time.

“I’ll make another batch for you.”

“Don’t bother.” Agron filled another mug with coffee and handed it over. “I’m not that big on breakfast anyway.”

He made no attempt to engage her in further conversation, but she didn’t seem to mind and they kept sharing their drinks for a while in a nearly comfortable silence. But the moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming shut down the hall, and the next thing they knew, Donar was already popping his head through the doorway.

“Hey, did someone make eggs? Great. I’m fucking starving.”

Agron shot him a look as the man pushed past him in the narrow space. “Good timing, man. You got a sixth sense for free food or something?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Donar said and reached between him and Naevia to grab the skillet in one hand and a fork in the other.

“Those got a little burnt, maybe you’d like some–”

Donar waved Naevia off and started ladling the eggs on a plate.

“You womenfolk are always so sensitive about everything. A little charcoal never killed anyone.” He looked up from the food. “You’re both sure you don’t want in on this?” Once he got the final okay, he emptied the rest of the eggs on his plate and dropped the pan in the sink and turned towards the living room, plate in hand. He gave them a mock salute before disappearing behind the corner. “My stomach thanks you.”

Agron downed what was left of his lukewarm coffee and pushed himself off the table.

“I’ll go grab a shower. You think you’ll be fine with him? Saxa’s around somewhere.”

Naevia shrugged. “He’s the least of my problems.”

Agron nodded and then finally turned to go, but she got hold of his arm before he had a chance to make it out the doorway.

“Look, I just wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

There were a few things in this world Agron just didn’t handle that well. Crying people and naked women were high on that list, but it was moments like these that would always take the top spot.

“If it had been up to me, you’d probably still be in Mexico right now,” he said and peeled her hand away. “So if I was you, I’d save the gratitude for someone else.”

“And I’m the reason half of your club is either dead or in hospital right now. So I’m afraid the guilt train is all full in here. What else you got?”

“Naevia...”

“Anyway, I think the correct answer is ‘you’re welcome’.”

Agron left her with an awkward pat on the shoulder and a last, reluctant smile and finally made his way towards the bedroom. He had just walked in when a loud bang from the bathroom startled him enough that he nearly tripped over his own feet. The noise was quickly followed by a string of curses in a familiar voice, and Agron frowned and walked up to the door.

“Nasir?”

“Don't...Shit, just don't come in. Please.”

Agron stopped with his hand on the handle. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm...” The hiss of pain was audible even through the door. “Fuck.”

And Agron might have been many things but patient wasn’t one of them, especially now. “Look, I’m coming in,” he said as he cracked the door open. “Just to check, alright?”

His brain, the panicky little thing that it was, had already managed to conjure up one graphic image after another of bloody walls and open wounds. So, when he finally stepped inside the bathroom and drew back the shower curtain and only found Nasir – seemingly unharmed, at least no more so than when he last saw him – standing in the middle of the shower staring at a bottle of shower gel at his feet, it took him a while to believe what he was seeing.

“What happened?”

Nasir glanced up but went quickly back to glaring at the floor. “I can’t bend down with these stupid stitches.”

The sight of Nasir’s naked body was definitely distracting, and in other circumstances Agron might have been more than willing to let himself be distracted. But there was something off in Nasir’s tone, and so Agron only frowned deeper and reached over to turn off the water and then picked up the bottle from the floor. He grabbed a towel from the rack and handed it over.

“Here. You probably want to...”

But Nasir ignored him and his outreached hand and simply turned away to lean heavily against the back wall. “Not that it matters anyway, since I can’t even keep the arm up long enough to wash myself.”

“Nasir...”

Slowly, the man lifted his eyes from the floor, and this time the expression on his face was easier to read; Agron had seen it enough times by now. It was the sort of anger that was aimed at everything and nothing all at once, but somehow in the end it always seemed to be Nasir who had to suffer the brunt of it himself.

“I know, right?” he said and then gave a short, bitter laugh that made the hairs on Agron’s neck bristle, “How can anyone be this pathetic? I mooch off of you, I eat your food, stay in your house... in your fucking _clothes_.”

Helplessly, Agron tried to reach his hand out again, but it was quickly swatted away.

“And now I can’t even wash my own hair. How useless is that?”

Agron had an ugly inkling that whatever this was, it had far less to do with the shower or these past few days than it did with the years that came before them. And so for all the more reason, he wasn’t willing to listen to this bullshit any longer, and he took a deep breath and then stepped inside the shower, fully clothed and leaving boot marks on the wet tiles. He tilted Nasir’s face up, searching his eyes.

“It’s not mooching, it’s called having a friend with an extra bed,” he said, knowing his thumb was digging into Nasir’s jaw, but he was too fired up to care, “And for fuck’s sake, you’ve been here...what? Two days? Donar’s stayed over longer for a hangover.”

Nasir kept evading him still, and Agron grabbed his chin and physically forced the man’s eyes to level with his. “And the reason you’re even here is ‘cause you took a bullet for someone. That’s as far from fucking useless as possible. Even if you won’t believe me on anything else, can you at least believe me on _that_?”

The other man was still half-glaring back at him, but the fight in his eyes was gradually dying down. And then he slowly nodded, and Agron let out a relieved breath and rested his free hand against the tiles and leaned in a little closer.

“And about your hair...” He picked some of the dark strands clinging to Nasir's forehead and brushed them away. “You know I could always shave it off,” he said matter-of-factly as he pulled his hand back again. “That would save you from washing it for weeks. Problem solved.”

Their stare held, and then Agron could finally see the muscles at the corners of his mouth starting to twitch ever so slightly.

“Asshole.” Nasir punched him half-heartedly in the chest, but he was smiling again, so Agron was ready to count this as a victory.

And then Nasir’s undressed state suddenly caught his attention again, breaking the moment. Sighing, Agron pushed himself off the wall and placed the shower gel back in the other man’s hand. “Okay. I’ll leave you to–”

But he didn’t make it far when Nasir grabbed the front of his shirt and stopped him.

“I could do with a little help, you know.”

Agron’s gaze went to Nasir’s taped side and then it strayed lower, and he swallowed before quickly lifting his eyes back to the man’s face.

“That’s probably not the best idea.”

Nasir gave him another smile and then slowly held up his hands. “I promise I’ll keep my hands above the waist. Swear.”

“It’s not my waist that I’m worried about.”

Agron’s attempts at chivalry would have probably carried a little more weight if his hands weren’t already grabbing the back of his t-shirt. He toed off his boots and tugged off the rest his clothes, and once they were all lying in a pile on the floor, he watched Nasir take a long look at him and raise an eyebrow.

“Wow. You must _really_ like taking showers, huh?”

Agron shook his head with a groan as he stepped back inside the shower, quickly crowding the other man in the cramped space. “Leave the jokes to the professionals, okay?”

“Hey, whatever floats ya boat. I don’t judge.”

Agron reached for the shower behind Nasir’s back and fumbled blindly around with the dial until there was the mostly steady stream of water slowly steaming up the small space again. Despite his promises, Nasir’s hands were steadily moving southward on Agron’s skin, but this wasn’t the time or place, so Agron stopped them halfway and then turned Nasir quickly around in his arms.

“Someone’s in a better mood,” he murmured in his ear as he maneuvered them both under the warm spray of water.

“Must be the company.”

Agron realized that he was probably seconds away from grinning like an even bigger idiot, so he decided to distract himself with the task in hand. He grabbed the shampoo and poured a generous amount of it over Nasir’s hair, running his fingers through the tangles and knots until the soapy water was clear again, and then he started to make his way down from there, over shoulders, following the lines of muscles and ink down the man’s arms. The tattoo on Nasir’s right bicep was leaking over to his shoulder blade and Agron traced the pattern with his thumb for a moment, before he finally slipped his hands around to the other side, steering clear from the bandage and bruises on his left side.

With Agron’s hands no longer between them, Nasir quickly leaned back against him – in a way that was anything but accidental.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Agron said and bit the man’s ear gently in retaliation.

Nasir tilted his head back and looked up at him, blinking against the falling water. “You’re just washing my hair, how _hard_ can it be?”

Agron rolled his eyes and then kissed him just to shut him up. Nasir tasted of toothpaste and sleep, and that and the coffee wasn’t necessarily a perfect combination, but Agron wasn’t picky, and he delved as deep as the awkward angle allowed, one hand cradling Nasir’s unshaven cheek, the other slowly making its way down the man’s torso. He stopped once he reached the ridge of his v-cut, but then he felt fingers lacing between his own coaxing him to keep moving.

“We shouldn’t...”

“Come on,” Nasir said, starting to sound like he’d just run 10k in record time, “One handjob’s not gonna kill me.”

When Agron still didn’t move, the other man apparently decided to jump over the reasonings and go straight for the jugular.

“Please...”

And Agron had never been a pushover before, but hell if he wasn’t one now.

He could feel Nasir’s racing pulse against his lips, and it kept picking up pace as Agron’s hand did the same. And he was vaguely aware of the fact that the sex and the long shower was like a perfect storm of things you shouldn’t be doing when your stitches weren’t out yet. And even if Nasir didn’t care, Agron at least should’ve tried to be the responsible one. But honestly, that was just too much to ask when he had his hands and arms full and Nasir was already burning holes in his skin.

He buried his face in the crook of Nasir’s neck with a resigned sigh that quickly turned into a whimper when the man pressed against him again. So Agron wrapped one arm around his chest to draw him close enough that he had no more room to move.

“Just let me do the work, okay?”

Someone had turned up the stereo in the next room, and the music slowly wafted in along with the cold air, mixing with the sound of Nasir’s heavy breathing that already filled the small space. And AC/DC might not have been exactly Marvin Gaye, but at least it was loud enough to drown out the curse-filled moan that managed to escape Nasir’s throat before Agron covered his lips with his own to swallow the rest.

Agron let him come down slowly from his high, kept touching him, holding him until he was sure the other man was steady on his own feet again. He kissed Nasir’s temple and then his ear and his cheek and his jaw, as he reached his free hand to shut off the water that was already beginning to lose its heat.

Nasir was back to being soft and pliable from the orgasm and the painkillers and 8 a.m. And Agron grabbed the towel hanging over the shower rail and started drying him off – quickly, before he had another fight on his hands over the coddling.

“You alright?” he asked as he turned the man around in his arms to towel the rest of him dry.

Nasir nodded against his collarbone and then glanced up with a look that was no longer pained but just this side of blissed out. And for a second it spread wildfire in Agron’s gut in a way that had nothing to do with the blood pooling in there. Then he slowly snaked his arms around Agron’s waist to pull him closer. Whether it was for warmth, for balance or something else, Agron couldn’t tell for sure, but he wasn’t complaining either way.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“I should,” Nasir continued, eyes darting down Agron’s body and then back up again, “I mean, d’you want me to...”

Agron shook his head and then cupped Nasir’s jaw with one hand and leaned down to kiss him. The already soaked towel in his other hand dropped forgotten down on the floor.

“Just stay right there.”

 

* * *

 

He could hear the doors opening and closing behind him and then the sound of familiar footsteps on the floorboards coming closer.

“That shit’s bad for you, you know that right?”

Agron smiled to himself at her tone and exhaled some more smoke. “I thought you were going.”

“I felt I should say goodbye first. I know my manners.”

“First time for everything.”

Saxa slapped the back of his head as she sat down beside him on the top of the steps and then snatched the cigarette from his hand.

“I was smoking that.”

“I know. Think of it as an intervention.” She took a quick drag before dropping the cigarette at her feet and crushing it under the sole of her shoe. “So how’s the boyfriend doing?”

“He’s not my...” Agron looked away off of her raised eyebrow and leaned on his knees. “He’s fine. Considering.”

“And still you look like something just crawled up your ass to die. What’s the deal, Kohler?”

“Well, let’s see...” He fished the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and gave her his wryest smile. “The club’s now basically holding funerals every other week, our VP’s in the hospital and the president’s on a steady diet of Prozac and Pepto-Bismol. And I’m here sitting and waiting for Ashur and whatever’s left of his little mob to barge through the door guns blazing any minute now. But, you know, apart from that everything’s fucking peachy.”

She grabbed the packet from his hand and held it out of reach. “Not to be callous, but that sounds like every other Tuesday around here since as long as I can remember. So what is it _really_? Or should I take a guess?”

Agron closed his eyes and pinched the bridged of his nose, taking in a steadying breath. “On a scale of one to ten, how crazy am I, exactly?”

He kept waiting for the expected answer of “eleven”, but it never came, and silence kept stretching and stretching, and finally Agron had no choice but to open his eyes again and look over his shoulder.

“It’s called being happy, idiot. Try it on for a size, you might like it.”

“And you of all people should know it’s a shitload more complicated than that.”

“You worry too much,” she said, making an unimpressed noise. “Not everything in life has to come ready with a ten-year plan. Sometimes it’s okay to just make it up as you go along.”

Apparently the expression on his face didn’t look quite convinced enough, because Saxa let out a deep, exasperated breath and continued.

“Look, it’s not like anyone’s asking you to pack your bags and move to WeHo. Just kiss the boy, cook him dinner, take him out for a ride. Have a little fun, man. That’s allowed every now and then, you know. No one has to be a miserable asshole _all_ the time.”

Agron ran his fingers through his damp hair and finally had to let out a tired laugh. “I don’t cook.”

“I’m sure you can think of something else to do. I can make you a list, if you want.”

Agron snorted again, and then Saxa was already leaning against his side, hooking her arm around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Okay, let me make this real simple for your little pea brain,” she said and jabbed him between the ribs. “What would Duro tell you?”

He shot her a look, not that it made any difference.

“Don’t.”

“That glare don’t work on me, sunshine,” she said and poked him again. “Come on. You know this. What would he say?”

Agron closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh, but he knew that the smile he was fighting was already sneaking up on him, dragging a lump in his throat along with it.

“I hate you, you know that, right?”

“And my job here is done.”


	21. Chapter 21

Agron let the dog out the back door and then hit his head against the glass and groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that I’m bored to fucking tears over here.”

He could hear the soft chuckle behind him and looked over his shoulder at Nasir who was leaning over the back of the couch, wearing a smirk that was far too cheeky for his own good.

“It’s barely been a week, Agron. I think you’ll survive.”

“Easy for you to say, since you’ve only been here for five minutes.” He pushed himself off the window and then ambled back to the sofa and flopped down against the worn-out cushions. “Some of us have been cooped up in this house 24/7, you know.”

“Bored, huh?” Nasir picked his laptop from the seat between them and put it down on the floor, and then he was already inching closer. “Then maybe we should find you something to do to pass the time?”

He ran his fingers down the front of Agron’s t-shirt, and Agron swallowed a little too obviously when his hand then slipped under the shirt. But in his defense, it had been a long week in more ways than one.

After that initial lapse of judgment, he had made a point of keeping his hands to himself, a promise that in all fairness had been made easier to keep by the fact that he had barely seen a glimpse of the other man since last Wednesday. But now Nasir was here and Agron was basically one dip of fingers away from giving in and just doing whatever he asked him to do. Never mind Nasir’s bullet wound and stitched up side. And never mind the fact that they could be walked in on practically at any minute now.

“What did you have in mind?”

His voice sounded thin and strained even to his own ears, but he was beyond the point of caring. Especially when the next thing he knew, Nasir was already straddled across his lap, pushing him roughly against the back cushions.

“Well, I was thinking...something like this...”

He kissed and licked and bit his way up Agron’s throat and along his jawline and then let out a satisfied sigh when he finally found his destination. It was all tongue and teeth, and Agron happily yielded the field and let the other man do what he wanted for a moment, before he took control of the kiss again, cupping Nasir’s jaw and tangling fingers in his hair for leverage.

Sitting idly by had never exactly been a strong suit.

“Fuck, Agron,” Nasir panted, breaking away just long enough to gasp in some air.

“Fucking tease,” Agron murmured in return. He could feel the other man grinning against his mouth, so he sank his teeth in his lower lip, and Nasir quickly retaliated by opening his thighs a little more and pressing against him, lazily at first - like a cat stretching in the sun. Agron all but growled at the sudden friction, and when Nasir grinded against him again, he couldn’t help but let his eyes slide close for a second, wrapping his hands around Nasir’s hips to keep him in place as he met his movements.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Says the man sitting on my lap,” Agron retorted, but the attempt at attitude was half-hearted at best. And then he was already arching back up into the slow roll of hips as his head fell back and his fingers dug into Nasir’s skin.

“I wouldn’t want to open your stitches,” he said, only half-listening the warning himself when Nasir’s hands slipped under his t-shirt again.

“It’s been over a week, I think we’re fine. And anyway, fuck the stitches.”

And maybe Agron would have wanted to laugh at the sudden desperation in the man’s voice, but the truth was, he was hardly in a position to disagree. So he kissed him instead.

When they broke for air again, Agron quickly rid Nasir of his tank top and then fiddled clumsily with the fly of his pants until it finally relented. Agron’s shirt was the next to go, landing in a heap somewhere on the floor.

“We really shouldn’t do this now,” he tried again, as he kept biting his way up Nasir’s neck while his hands travelled in the opposite direction down the man’s bare back. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Better be quick, then.”

And Agron really didn’t have any more fight left in him – if he ever had had any in the first place – and he quickly followed orders. His hands slipped under layers of rough fabric and stretching cotton, and he gripped Nasir’s ass and pulled him closer, swallowing his moans with another kiss. Somewhere between them, he could feel Nasir yanking and tugging at his belt more and more desperately by the second until he finally got the buckle ripped open, and the fly itself wasn’t far behind.

Nasir had just snaked his hand under the waist of Agron’s underwear when the doorbell rang down the hall and his fingers froze in place.

“Fuck.”

Agron’s head hit the backrest again and he closed his eyes and hoped against hope it would be just a neighbor or a mailman, and if they just ignored it, whoever it was would go away. But no later, he could hear someone banging on the door with their fist.

“Agron! Could you come and open the fucking door, please!”

Mira’s voice rang loud even from the distance and Agron groaned to himself. Nasir had already scrambled off his lap and was quickly dressing himself again, and Agron picked up his shirt from the floor and did the same as he walked to the front door, tucking himself the best he could back into his jeans.

He pulled the door open and was met with Mira’s glare and Naevia’s far more reserved look behind her. He tried on his best smile while he kept smoothing down his t-shirt as far over the front of his jeans as possible.

“Sorry, I must have dozed off.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mira’s eyes then flitted from his face to something behind his shoulder and then the gaze was back again, and her suspicious frown turned into a scowl.

“If you’ve laid one finger on him, I swear to god you’re a dead man,” she said, and then before he had a chance to react, she was already pushing past him. Naevia trailed after her, giving Agron an awkward smile as they passed in the doorway.

“Did I not tell you to keep yourself from doing anything strenuous until I get those stiches out?” Mira asked Nasir, who was now standing in the middle of the floor, pulling his hair back into a ponytail and looking more and more like a deer in the headlights with every passing second. “Anything strenuous, like...fucking, for example?”

“We weren’t...” Nasir sounded as panicked as he looked, and then his voice trailed off and he quickly looked to Agron for help.

“Come on, Mira. Don’t be stupid. We are not–”

He watched her shoulders rise and fall and then she slowly turned around to face him again, suddenly looking less irritated and just plain tired.

“You know me better than that, Agron,” she said with a sigh, “And I know you. And none of this is exactly _news_. I’ve just spent enough of my precious time sewing him back together that I was hoping you two could keep it in your respective pants long enough for him to heal properly, so I wouldn’t have to do it again.” She tapped her temple with her finger. “Comprendes?”

Their staring contest lasted for another moment, until Agron finally yielded and held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said, “won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed Nasir by the arm. “And you’re coming with me back to the clinic. You’re due a check-up, anyway.” She then took Agron’s sweater that was hanging by the door and threw it at Nasir. “Put that on, it’s cold out there today.”

“Yes mother,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he walked by Agron.

“I heard that.”

The front door closed loudly after them, leaving Agron and Naevia standing in the middle of the floor in an awkward silence.

“Sorry about that.”

The woman shrugged and turned to walk to the windows by the back door. “No need to apologize. We’ve all been there, right?” She tried on a laugh but it sounded more than a little strained to his ears. Though Agron was sure that the reason for that had very little to do with him and Nasir.

He cleared his throat and slowly followed after her.

“So how’s Crixus doing?”

She kept hugging her arms, rubbing them like she was cold, even if Agron could swear it was still almost ninety inside.

“The fever’s finally down, so they’ll probably release him tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s good.” And to his great surprise, Agron realized he might have actually meant that this time. He’d probably keep that particular sentiment to himself, though.

The woman sighed and looked back out into the empty yard. “I suppose. But what will he be back to, though?”

“You.”

Naevia huffed but didn’t say the words, and so they both ended up staring out the window for a while in silence.

“Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about...” Agron made a vague gesture in the air, “...you know...”

“You and Nasir?”

“Mm-hmm...”

“I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

Agron watched her carefully under his brow. “Not even to Crixus.”

She stayed silent for a few seconds and then glanced over. “You don’t think he knows a thing or two about being involved with the wrong kind?” She laughed a short, hollow laugh and hugged herself tighter for a second. “Maybe you two should compare notes. Which diet is more dangerous for your health around here, chocolate or dick?”

Agron leaned his hand on the doorframe and looked away again. He knew what she meant, but he also knew there was too much riding on this for him to go blindly counting on people’s sympathy – Crixus’ or anyone else’s.

“The club has enough going on at the moment, so I’d just rather not test the waters right now, okay?”

She shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

If only the rest of the women in his life were this easily appeased.

Pete started barking somewhere out of sight, and Agron frowned; the dog rarely did that. And then, just as abruptly, he went quiet again. And Agron’s frown only grew deeper.

He opened the door and called out for him. Nothing happened. He whistled and called out his name again, but the results were the same. And the yard wasn’t _that_ big.

 _Shit_.

He reached for his gun but came up empty. He almost panicked for a second, until he remembered what he had been doing previously and cursed a little more under his breath as he ran back to the couch.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..._

“Agron...”

He already had the gun in sight, wedged between two couch cushions, but the sound of Naevia’s voice made him freeze and look over his shoulder.

“Well, well, well...Maybe you should invest in a better security system. Or anyone might walk in.” Ashur chortled as he spoke and Agron took one long calming breath as he slowly straightened his back. He had a feeling this wouldn’t end that well. But then what else was knew?

“Isn’t this a little out of your way?”

The man shrugged with a fake smile plastered on his face. “I’m thinking of expanding my territory. Speaking of which...” He pushed the gun deeper in Naevia’s skin. “I believe you’ve been stepping on mine.”

“I haven’t been to Diego in months,” Agron replied evenly, taking a step back towards the sofa. “And the club doesn’t deal in people, you should know that.”

The other man tutted. “Don’t be a smartass, it doesn’t suit you. You’ve taken something of mine, and I’m here to take it back. As simple as that. So if I were you I would stop playing games right about...” He eased the gun away from Naevia’s head and aimed it at Agron instead. “... _now._ ”

Reluctantly, Agron held up his hands. He could feel the familiar tingling running up his spine, but tried to keep his temper in check as he kept eyeing Naevia and the man in front of him. He knew he had to be smarter about this, but if the assface kept talking like this for much longer, Agron wasn’t sure if the rational part of his brain was going to hold out.

“Or what?” he asked.

Ashur left Naevia standing by the bookcase and took another step towards him.

“Or you’ll find yourself without your little whore _and_ with a bullet in your skull,” he answered, shaking the gun in front of him. “She’s coming with me either way, so now it’s time to decide what we’re gonna do with you.”

Agron’s hands itched to fight, but when he glanced over at Naevia he decided not to risk a bullet to his head. Yet.

“And if she doesn’t want to go back?”

“I have my ways of persuasion. Now, let’s see how you–”

“I’m a little surprised that you’re still wasting your time here,” Agron interrupted, as he kept shifting his stance inch by inch to the side, “The feds already got to your little friend, wouldn’t it have made more sense for you to just disappear before they got to you, too?”

“And do you know _why_ they found her?” Ashur asked with a smirk and took another step forward. “She and that husband of hers are not the only ones with connections, you know. I called in some favors, so don’t you worry, I’ll be free as a bird to do whatever I want for as long as I want it. Speaking of which...”

“You might want to look behind you. Before you make too many promises.”

Ashur barked out a laugh. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“He has a point, though,” Naevia said.

Instinctively, the other man looked back at the voice, which gave Agron enough time to duck down and reach for his gun. Not that he needed to, in the end, because when he finally had the Glock in hand, Ashur was already lying face down on the floor.

Agron walked over with cautious step, kicked the man’s gun away from the body and then carefully rolled him over.

“Is he dead?”

Agron checked the pulse on instinct, but the exit wound on the man’s forehead pretty much told him all that he needed to know. He nodded and then looked over his shoulder at the woman who was still standing by the bookcase, looking back at him with unseeing eyes.

Slowly, he got back to his feet and walked over and carefully took the gun that was still dangling from her fingers.

“I’m a little surprised Crixus gave you his favorite,” he said as he put the safety back on and handed it back to her. “I’m pretty sure he’d marry that one, if he could.”

“He said it’d bring me luck.” Her lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes as she kept staring at the man on the ground. “And I told him to shove off with that bullshit.”

Agron adjusted the gun he’d wedged in the waist of his jeans and took a better look at the woman’s face.

“Are you alright?” Not that he would have been much help if the answer was “no”, but it felt polite to ask.

Her eyes stayed somewhere on the floor. “I will be.”

Agron nodded but didn’t really have anything more to say, and so they stood there in silence for another heartbeat, until Naevia finally peeled her eyes away from Ashur and looked up to Agron’s face with a far more sober expression on her own than before.

“And now what?”

“Now we clean up,” Agron answered and turned back to look at the mess on the floor.

Naevia opened her mouth to say something, but she never had the chance to start when the sound of a gun firing suddenly rang loud and clear from the backyard.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Never in his life had Agron thought he’d be this happy about watching Donar tackling a 300-pound-guy to the ground. But out of all the things he had been expecting to see when he ran out the back door fifteen seconds ago, this definitely was on the list of preferred scenarios.

“Well, I’m glad someone’s having fun out here,” he said as he came to a stop by the two men still wrestling on the grass. “It’s not like I could’ve needed back-up in the house five minutes ago or anything.”

Donar snapped the second handcuff close before jamming the other man’s face deep into the turf.

“Since when have you needed me to come and hold your fucking hand? Anyway, two against one seemed more than enough, and I was a little busy here myself, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Agron looked around him in the otherwise empty yard as Donar kept elbowing the man under him into submission. He seemed to have the situation under control, so Agron didn’t feel the need to intervene; just as he didn’t feel the need to know why Donar suddenly happened to have a pair of handcuffs on the ready. Some things he was more than happy to steer clear of.

“So where are the rest?”

“Mira and the kid were running after them down the road a minute ago. And I think I already heard a car driving away.” Donar hit the other man one last time until he finally seemed to go completely limp underneath him. “Not the most loyal bunch, are you, assholes?”

Agron mirrored his grim smile and let out a chuckle that was more about the growing relief than anything else. It was time to start wrapping this party up, and he was about to reach into his back pocket for his phone, when he caught a glimpse of the gun still wedged between the back of Donar’s cut and the waist of his jeans. He scanned the burnt grass around them for any others but came up empty and frowned.

“I heard a gunshot from here. Who–”

And then, as if on cue, Mira suddenly appeared from around the corner and the rest of the sentence got lodged midway in his throat. He heard a loud gasp behind him and then felt Naevia grab his shoulder. Her nails might have been cutting through the fabric of his shirt but, to be fair, from that moment on, she could have been drawing blood and Agron wouldn’t have noticed.

Everybody had a breaking point, and Agron had spent his fair share of hours sitting in the dark and staring into a glass of whisky, wondering what that would be for him. Well, he didn’t have to wonder any longer. All he needed was one look at Mira’s face. And her red hands and blood-splattered shirt.

It was like he was suddenly caught up in a Tarantino-remake of Groundhog Day. And, quite frankly, the joke was getting old.

There were only so many times he was able to go through this same exact fucking thing and come out sane on the other end. Only so many people in his life he could love and then lose right under his nose before the guilt became too much to handle.

“Agron, it’s not–”

But he wasn’t listening anymore and pushed Mira aside with force as he walked past her and continued around the corner, his legs growing a little heavier with each step. But once he made it to the other side of the house, his feet slowed down even further, until he finally had to stop completely.

Nasir, standing a few feet away in the middle of the narrow patch of lawn between the building and the boarded fence, lifted his eyes off the ground and looked at him over his shoulder.

“I had to...”

His voice trailed off and he turned away again, fiddling absently with the gun in his hand, and finally Agron was able to shake the lead off his feet and close the remaining distance between them. His brain was still catching up, but at least his legs were working again.

“The knife went in too deep, there wasn’t anything–”

Agron stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and then crouched down, kneeling by the dog lying on the lawn.

It was quiet out here. There were no birds in the trees, no cars on the road; you could barely even hear the distant buzz of the interstate with the building in the way. It was almost a little too quiet, in fact; Agron was surprised the gunshots hadn't yet alerted anyone to come over to take a curious look if nothing else. But then the only one within earshot at this time of day was probably old Lucius in the next house over, and he didn't give a damn about what Agron was doing, at least as long as it didn’t require him putting on pants and getting off his chair. The man would be quickly placated with a bottle of Scotch and another widescreen TV. It had been almost a year since he last got a new one, anyway.

Agron reached out his hand and petted Pete’s head, even though it was a pointless gesture if there ever was one. The blood on him was still warm, and it clung to Agron’s skin and sank under his nails, but he kept scratching the dog behind the ear anyway.

And maybe it was just the adrenalin wearing off, or the relief settling in, or his brain still trying to wrap itself around what exactly had gone down in the last twenty minutes. But whatever the reason, Agron suddenly realized he was close to fighting actual tears. He liked dogs – hell, most days he preferred their company over humans – but still, he wasn’t the type to be crying over shit like this. He wasn’t eight anymore; and this wasn’t the family dog.

But then, maybe that was it. This wasn’t the family dog. This wasn’t even _his_ dog. This was Duro’s dog, and therein lay the difference. It always did. And now Pete was just another piece of his brother gone from him, never to return.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a brief brush of fingers at the back of his neck and Agron closed his eyes for a second before finally blinking them dry.

But all that said, it was still just a dog.

Slowly, he got back to his feet, wiping blood on his jeans, and then without a word he grabbed Nasir’s neck and shoulder and pulled him into a hug that probably was too tight for someone whose bruises hadn’t faded yet. But at this moment even a full body cast probably wouldn’t have stopped him.

“Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again.”

And that sentence didn’t necessarily make much sense; none of this was exactly Nasir’s fault, and he was hardly responsible for Agron’s anxieties. But sense was overrated anyway, and right now Agron couldn’t give a fuck about anything rational; all he needed was _this_.

He could feel the hands wedged between them slowly slipping around his waist, and he balled the man’s sweater in his fists and, for the briefest of moments, pressed lips to his hair.

And then the distant sound of approaching bike engines was already drawing them apart.

  


* * *

  


It was getting dark and the light from the TV was starting to hurt his eyes, and so he closed them and rubbed his face as he leaned back against the couch, trying his best to get comfortable. The smell of chlorine hung heavy in the air, along with something else less definable – a dark cloud that Agron had fully expected to be rid of by now, since the day had ended, if not on a completely positive note, then at least on a neutral one. And still he just couldn’t shake off the uneasiness that was slowly seeping under his skin. It was giving him a headache.

Then again, maybe it was just the bleach.

“Does it make me a horrible person if I’m more upset about a dog dying than a human being?”

“I think you’re asking the wrong guy,” he answered absentmindedly as he tried to rub away some of the tension in his neck. But he had barely had time to close his eyes again when he felt something jab him in the side. When he peered to the seat next to him, he found Nasir scowling back at him.

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“That you’re a bad person or somehow worse than me. That’s messed up.”

“Well, what am I supposed to say? I sell guns to assholes and beat up people for a living, I’m not exactly _nice_.”

“And I blew guys for Big Macs at fifteen. What’s your point?”

Agron had to take a moment – and one deep, deep breath – to turn off the sudden flow of gut-turning images to his brain, before he felt he could continue.

“That’s hardly the same thing. The business I’m in–”

“Is the same fucking business I’m in now. Or have I just imagined the last three months? And this hole under my ribs?” Nasir shifted on the couch, quickly adding distance between them. “Or is it because I still don’t have a proper patch like you do? I’m just another rescue dog for you to feed and house, but god forbid I should feel I’m _involved_? Well, bad news, ‘cause I already am involved. And I want to be; this is my life now, too. I belong here as much as you.”

Somehow, it was both the answer Agron desperately wanted to hear and not at the same time. And then he finally understood the haunting feeling that was still itching under his skin. It was a decision – a deal with some god he didn’t believe in – that his brain had already made hours ago, in that split second when he had first watched Mira walking towards him in her bloodstained shirt.

“Maybe you don’t,” he said quietly, staring into his hands.

The silence between them festered for the longest five seconds of Agron’s life, and then Nasir was already off the couch and on his feet.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Maybe you _don’t_ belong,” Agron repeated, doing his best to keep his voice – and the rest of him – under control. “Maybe you should just get the hell away from here. Get the hell away from me.”

Nasir stood in the middle of the floor, staring daggers at him, his whole body practically shaking from the pent up frustration.

“That’s what you really think?”

And the hurt in his voice hit Agron like the recoil from a machine gun, but he kept his face straight and let the man continue.

“So what was all that talk about me _not_ being useless for, then?” Nasir stopped and gave Agron an ugly smirk. “No, let me guess. You thought it would get you some, huh? Yeah...” He snorted. “You know, at least the Bic Macs were real and not just empty words. But I guess I should've asked for the money up front. It's the first rule in the business, after all.”

And maybe if this had been any other day, Agron would’ve been shouting curses and punching holes in the walls by now. But he knew that was not happening tonight. He had conceded this fight before it began and now damage control was the most he could hope for.

So he took a few calming breaths and got up from the couch as slowly as he could, measuring every step and every word.

“This has nothing to do with sex, or with you and what you can or cannot do. Honestly. It’s all on me.”

“We’re really doing that now, are we?” Nasir laughed in disbelief and quickly continued in a mocking voice, “ _It’s_ _not you, it’s me_. Really, Agron? Really? What's wrong with you?”

_Want me to make a list?_ Agron thought grimly, but said nothing.

“I just don’t get it,” Nasir continued. The worst of the acid in his voice was disappearing, and now he was sounding confused more than anything else. “I mean, what’s going on? It’s barely been a week, it’s not like we’re married or anything. If you don’t want to keep doing this, doing _us_ , then fine, let’s call it a day and move on. But why do you suddenly want me gone?”

The other man was standing at a touching distance now, and there would soon be eight crescent-shaped welts growing on Agron’s palms, but Agron ground his teeth and held firm. He couldn't give in. Not now.

“Look, it’s been a long day,” he started, suddenly sounding as exhausted as he felt, “and I’m too tired to try and explain all this to you tonight, okay? Can we just–”

“Yeah, I should go.”

True to his word, Nasir turned to walk away, and then, before Agron even understood what he was doing, he had already grabbed the man’s arm to stop him. Hard enough to hurt.

“It’s late and your place is on the other end of town. Just stay the night.”

Nasir stared at Agron's hand for a moment, and then his eyes followed the length of his arm all the way up to his face. And suddenly there was a gaping distance stretching between them, even though neither of them had moved an inch.

“So you wanna get your dick wet one last time?” Nasir chuckled to himself and finally pushed Agron’s hand off of him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Mira was kind of clear that I don’t do anything like that again until the stiches are off. Try your luck somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I...”

Agron felt like he had just been punched in the face, and he staggered the two needed steps back to the couch and sat back down with a groan. How things had gotten this bad this quickly, he didn’t know. Guess it was the price you paid when you got involved when you knew you shouldn't. Shit hitting the fan and all that jazz.

“The house is empty now, so take your pick of the rooms. Or take the couch. Or sleep on the floor. Or in the car.” He hung his head and rubbed his face in his hands. “ _I’_ ll sleep in the car if you want. I don’t care, as long as you stay here tonight. Please.”

“What–”

“I’ve almost lost you one too many times already, okay? Two times in less than two weeks. So I just need to know where you are tonight. Need to know that you’re here and not in some back alley bleeding to death _._ ” He ran both hands through his hair, dragging blunt nails over his scalp, before he finally wagered to look up again. “Just give me one night. Eight hours, or six, or whatever the fuck is left of it. To keep me from going completely insane.”

“You really care that much about...where I sleep?”

Their stare held, and Agron knew that the question Nasir was really asking was something else entirely. So he answered them both.

“Yes.”

“And still you want me to get out of here tomorrow? Out of your life, the club, everything?”

“Yes.” He had never been so sure of anything in his life. But Nasir wasn’t done yet.

“And what do you think will happen if I do go? I’ll get an internship at Google or some shit like that? A scholarship to MIT? Then a cushy 9-to-5 job at some IT department, a mortgage and a husband and a couple of kids?”

Agron could feel the chisel slowly chipping cracks into the hastily mounted walls around him, and he shrugged and looked away. “Maybe.”

“Really? You _really_ think that’ll happen to a high school dropout with a rap sheet and no money? To a brown kid with a name like mine? Yeah, I’m sure the job offers are rolling in as we speak.” Nasir walked up to him, close enough that finally Agron couldn’t help but look up. “There’s a reason why this club is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you know it. I’d probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.”

That had to be the most ironic thing Agron had heard in years, and he had to laugh, but it only made the other man narrow his eyes and step even closer.

“And that’s saying I’d even _want_ any of those things in the first place. I mean, would _you_ ever leave here? Leave the club? Go and look for something easier?”

And, well, they both knew the answer to that already.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Nasir answered for him. Then he seemed to come to some sort of decision and quickly squared his shoulders and set his jaw. “And neither will I. So I guess you just have to get used to having me around.”

And now the other man was standing so close that Agron couldn’t help but reach out his hand and touch while he tried his hardest to come up with at least one argument to make his point. But his mind was treading water and the whole situation had done a 180 so quickly that, honestly, he was still playing catch-up. He pinched Nasir’s top between his fingers and then hesitated; the last thing he wanted was to be sending the wrong signals again. But before he had time to decide what he was going to do, Nasir had already decided for him – apparently that had become the rule between them at some point when Agron hadn't been looking. He wrapped his arms around Agron's neck and pulled him closer, beating any remaining fight out of him with a simple hug.

“You really can’t let me win, can you? Ever? Even if it fucking kills you?”

“Deal with it.”

Agron let out a tired laugh and carefully slipped his hands under the man’s top, but with no other agenda than just to make sure he was really there. Anything else might or might not come later, but this was all he needed tonight.

“So will you stay?”

“You know you have to let me back out into the world at some point, right?”

“I know, I know,” Agron said, resting his head against Nasir’s chest with a resigned sigh.

He could feel fingers running down the side of his face and along his jawline and then stop right under his chin. It only took one finger to make him look up, but that was pretty much all it ever took from Nasir, anyway. And when Agron met his eyes again, the other man was looking at his face like he was seeing something _important_ there. Agron was almost tempted to ask what it was, but lost his nerve at the last minute. Though, in all honesty, he wasn't sure which answer he was more afraid of hearing: Nasir telling him it was nothing, or Nasir telling him it was exactly what he was hoping it to be.

“Okay, I'll stay,” Nasir said, “But just for tonight.”

“Just for tonight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more cliffhangers from now on, I swear. :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. Only a couple of chapters to go, though, so I should have this story finished for you soon(ish).
> 
> And in other news, let's just imagine that Lugo travels around a lot, and so his accent might be a little all over the place at times... ;)

 

Agron stirred awake, blinking in the hazy morning light. He caught a glimpse of the alarm clock on the night stand and then rolled back on his back again. It was early but not too early, and he might as well be getting to the shop to check if Brictius had managed not to burn it to the ground in the past week. Agron wasn’t the kind of person who lingered in bed anyway; he had too much to do. And even when he didn’t, he could always think of something.

But this time it was that something that was keeping him from leaving. That someone.

Well, the usual suspect.

Nasir was sleeping on the other side of the bed, the sheet tangled in his feet, his hair a mess. The sun filtering through the blinds was painting orange stripes across his back and Agron stifled a sigh.

And he had to wonder when exactly had it all happened. When had he gone from being the kind of person who couldn’t wait to kick a guy out of his bed in the morning to the kind who was begging him to stay, all day and all night?

Apparently somewhere between the starters and the main course he had gone and lost his mind.

“You gonna keep staring, or will you do something about it?”

Nasir’s voice was still heavy with sleep and Agron found himself fighting an unexpected smile.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No, I hear ya.”

Agron scoffed halfheartedly and inched closer. His fingers found their way on Nasir’s skin on autopilot, and he let them travel along the man’s arm, but halfway down he suddenly hesitated and then stopped and pulled his hand away.

“Look, I meant what I said last night. I don’t want you to think that this is the same shit like with all the...I mean...think that I’m just trying to–”

“Agron?”

“Mm?”

“Shut up.”

Nasir grabbed Agron’s hand and tugged him closer until they were lying back to chest again. “Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much?”

Agron half snorted half sighed against his neck. “Maybe. But you know why I worry.”

Nasir didn’t answer, and then he was suddenly turning around on the bed and in Agron’s arms, forcing Agron on his back to accommodate the sudden change in position.

“So I’ve been thinking, and I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what your problem is.”

Agron was barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes. This ought to be good.

“And what’s that?”

“You’re always so damn busy worrying about everything and everyone else, but you’ve got no one to worry about _you_. And everybody needs someone.” He pushed himself up on his elbow and ran a finger along the side of Agron’s face. Then a thumb across his cheek. “You need someone to take care of you, before you have an ulcer or something.”

The look in his eyes was a little too much to take so early in the morning, and Agron wrapped his arms a little tighter around the man and pulled him back down against his chest.

“And did you happen to have someone in mind?”

“Maybe.”

“Mm-hmm.” Agron closed his eyes with a sigh. “And you get that this is like the exact opposite of what I was going for yesterday?”

“Yeah, but it’s a much better plan, right?”

Nasir tilted his head up enough to look at Agron’s face, and Agron relented with another sigh and a reluctant smile.

“It’s really not,” he said and tucked some loose hair behind the man’s ear.

“Of course it is. My plans are always better, because your plans suck ass.”

Agron barely had a chance to open his mouth when Nasir pressed a hand over it and shook his head. So Agron let his head fall back on the pillow and Nasir – apparently confident in his victory – settled back against his side with what sounded like a satisfied sigh.

“So are my eight hours up yet?”

Agron glanced at the clock. They really should be going.

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Okay. You don’t mind if I stay here, do you?”

Agron made some noncommittal noises in return, and then they had already settled into another easy kind of silence, and he was back to absently stroking the man’s bare skin. On the eighth loop up, his hand stayed on Nasir’s shoulder and his thumb started drawing circles on the ink underneath instead.

“This doesn’t look cheap.”

“A friend did it,” Nasir answered. A little too quickly, making Agron frown. “Back in Fresno. He used to practice on me, and so he did that for free as a thank you. It’s not like I was–”

“No, I know, I know,” Agron said, stopping him in mid-sentence. “It looks nice. That’s all I meant.”

Unlike Agron’s tattoos that were fairly straightforward – mostly just names and dates and the eagle on his shoulder – this one was all intricate shapes and soft ink and shading. He followed the lines with his fingers and tried to make sense of it but it was a little difficult upside down, and then he had never really been big on understanding abstract stuff like this anyway.

“So what’s it about?”

“You don’t wanna know. It’s silly.”

“You’re talking to a guy who once got a tattoo of a cat on a dare. Come on.”

“Well, it’s about my brother.” He huffed and the hot air tickled Agron’s skin. “Well, not _about Ish_ , obviously. It was this story he used to tell, about dragons and flying fish and volcanoes and stuff. I mean, he was like five or six then, so it was _stupid_ , but he just wouldn’t shut up about it, and it was...” He let himself trail off and then buried his face deeper into Agron’s skin so that the last of his words came out a little muffled. “I don’t know. I just thought it could make a nice piece, is all.”

“You want to...talk about it?”

“Not really.” He took a deep breath and then quickly corrected himself, “Not today, alright?” Then he loosened Agron’s hold on him and pushed himself up again, until they were face to face. “I just don’t think I can handle any new stuff for a while, you know what I mean? Not after everything that’s been going on lately. And we got time for all that later, right?”

“Yeah, we got time.”

Nasir was smiling at him again, and before Agron had time to even react to the twinging in his gut this time, he was already grabbing Agron’s face and leaning down. And the kiss wasn’t exactly minty fresh, but those were the kind of details Agron really didn’t care about, and so he just went with it and soon was rolling them over on the mattress – on instinct more than anything else.

But the sad truth was that all the tongue and the traveling hands and morning wasn’t exactly a combination they had time for, so finally the half of Agron’s brains that wasn’t down his boxers caught up with what was going on and put a stop to the proceedings.

“Okay, better not start something we can’t finish,” he said as he reluctantly pulled away and propped himself up on his elbow, brushing hair away from Nasir’s eyes. The other man was dragging his nails leisurely up and down the back of his neck, and Agron became acutely aware of the fact that he had to get off this bed in the next fifteen seconds, or he’d still be here at noon.

“So how about some coffee?”

“I could do with some coffee,” Nasir said.

“Great.” Agron met his smile and gave him a last quick peck on the lips. “Black. No sugar.”

He ignored Nasir’s face and flung himself off the bed and then headed for the bathroom. “You remember where everything is, right? Coffee on the right, mugs by the sink.”

He stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder at the man who was still sitting on the bed, looking a little stunned. Also, looking somewhere else than Agron’s face. So Agron waited patiently, until Nasir’s gaze finally travelled high enough for their eyes to meet. And maybe his grin was a little on the smug side, but it felt like forever since he’d last smiled at all so he decided to allow himself this.

“Coffee,” he said and nodded his head towards the other door with a pointed look.

He managed to duck just in time, before the pillow hit the doorframe with a thump.

 

* * *

 

Agron shrugged the cut over his shirt as he made his way along the short corridor, smiling to himself as he walked around the corner.

“Hey, I heard the door. You didn’t just bail on me, did y–” His words got stuck midway, along with his feet, when he finally made it to the living room.

The man leaning against the side of the sofa looked up from his coffee and gave him a slow smile.

“Mornin’.”

Before Agron had a chance to collect himself enough to reply, Nasir appeared in his line of sight, shoving a mug of coffee in his hand and giving him a look that seemed to boil down to something as helpful as “I don’t fucking know.”

Agron cleared his throat. “Isn’t this a little early for a social call, Lugo? Been riding all night again?”

“Well...was coming down from Vegas an’ heard yer quarantine was up. So I thought I’d pay a visit tae ya. See how tha big man was holdin’ up.” He smiled wider. “Did not know about the company, though.”

Their stare held and Lugo wasn’t budging an inch. And Agron drank a mouthful of coffee in one swallow, even if it was hot enough to burn his throat.

“Passing through, huh?”

“Aye.”

Lugo looked from Agron to Nasir and then back again while he drank his coffee like he had no care in the world.

“So anythin’ new with ye?”

“Not a damn thing,” Agron answered. “And you?”

“Well, now that we got talkin’...” The Scot took another sip from his mug and crossed his booted feet at the ankle. “Happened to make some bad bets in Vegas, and was wondering if ye’d need another pair of hands ‘round the shop. With Rhaskos gone an’ all.” His face went serious for a second and he scratched his beard. “Now, I’m no grave robber, mind. But dead men don’t need jobs, do they? An’ ye could do with tha help, no?”

“So you’re looking for...work?”

And then the smile was back again. “Unless ye got all yer slots filled already?”

The silence that fell was finally broken by Nasir clearing his throat, followed by the sound of porcelain hitting against the laminate.

“I should be going,” he said, grabbing his sweater from the couch behind Lugo’s back and then walking past Agron across the floor. “I’ll see you...at work.”

Agron nodded a little absentmindedly, and then the door was already closing behind the man’s back.

“So...”

“I think we can stop the fucking games now, man.”

Lugo turned his eyes from the front door and back to him. He kept scratching his beard and frowned.

“I thought you lot had rules against these ‘ere...situations?”

“Don’t shit where you eat. I know, I know.”

“So...”

“So I’m figuring it out,” Agron answered.

“An’ tha lad?”

Agron put his barely touched mug of coffee on the bar counter and then raked the free hand through his hair. He could have done without this particular conversation before lunch. Or ever.

“What about him?”

“Just sayin’,” Lugo answered with a shrug. “That’s a helluva lot ridin’ on someone you’ve known fer five minutes, and a young’un like that...Must be easier ways tae find a shag in this town, right?”

“Must be.”

The other man took one last look at him and then nodded his head and sighed. “Aye.”

He wasn’t always the subtlest of men, but apparently that didn't mean he couldn't read between the lines.

Agron grabbed his keys from the table, and Lugo finally pushed himself off the sofa and followed after him.

“So how ‘bout this job, then?”

“Somehow I have the feeling that if I said no, you’d have a way of convincing me otherwise,” Agron said over his shoulder as he walked to the door.

“Blackmail? Me? Banish tha thought.”

Lugo was grinning again, and Agron grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out the door in front of him.

“Come on then, I guess I can always find you some spark plugs to change.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

“ _...in the latest scandal of this election season. Mr. Glaber, a state senate candidate and former assembly member was today charged with felony human trafficking and forced labor offences in a case that will clearly have a long standing impact on the whole state legislature... And now we are joined with the newly appointed state attorney for the Central District, Marcus Crassus. Mr. Crassus, you are on record criticizing the slow response to the rise in gang related crime in the area, both on the state and federal level. What is your take on today’s shocking revelations and how will it aff–”_

Someone at the bar changed the channel again, and the droning voice of the newscaster was replaced by some celebrity or another shouting how it was Saturday night in New York. Agron shifted on the hard wooden chair for the fifty-second time and then started drumming his fingers against the beer bottle again.

“Agron...Agron...Agron!”

He looked up to the other side of the table only to find Spartacus glaring back at him.

“What?”

The president rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to pay attention when I’m talking to you?”

“I’m paying attention.”

“I know,” Spartacus said and pointed his glass towards the pool table, “to _that_.”

Agron took a long swig of his lukewarm beer and gave the other man a tired look; it was the best he could muster at this point. Most of his patience had already been used up in San Diego cleaning up after Ashur’s mess, and whatever was left of it was burned along with the last of the gas on the road home. He could do without the lecture; all he needed right now was a hot shower, some food and...

He realized he was staring at the pool table again, so he quickly shook off the thought and forced his eyes back on the president.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought we settled this already,” Spartacus said and sighed into his whiskey, “No complications, ring a bell? I think your exact words were ‘there’s nothing–”

“Nothing’s going on, Spartacus.”

“So that’s not your sweater, then?”

Agron shrugged. “So I lent him a jacket. Big fucking deal.”

“And the fact that he’s been practically living in your house? No deal there either, right?”

“He was there two days. He had his side cut open and that place of his is a fucking health hazard.” Agron placed the empty bottle slowly back down on the table; he had to be careful or he’d soon be breaking things. “Anything else? Or are we done with the second degree now? I thought we were supposed be talking shop.”

“We _were_ ,” Spartacus said evenly and leaned forward in his chair just as Agron leaned back in his, “but for _some reason_ you’ve been having trouble hearing me ever since we’ve been back. And you can’t exactly blame the engine noise this time, either.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Agron was already giving up with a sigh.

“And what do you want me to say?” he asked, more calmly than he had been expecting. “Better yet, what do you want me to be exactly, a monk or something? Someone who never has sex? Never meets up with anyone? Come on, man.”

“It’s not about you and _anyone_ _._ It’s about you and him, about the club. The club always comes first, you know that.”

Somehow that “always” only seemed to apply to Agron; there was room for exceptions for everybody else. Crixus especially. But then that was a can of worms Agron didn’t necessarily need or want to open today; this was enough for now.

“...You know the last thing we need around here is more–”

Agron groaned. “I swear, if you say the word ‘complications’ one more time...”

“Auctus and Barca practically lived together for three goddamn years, Spartacus. And that shit went down smoothly enough.”

Agron’s head snapped up at the sound of Crixus’ voice.

“It was before your time,” the man said simply and pulled up a chair next to the president. “Anyway, I don’t remember that many complications there, do you?”

Naevia sat down on a chair beside Agron and put a fresh bottle of beer in front of him. But Agron barely had the presence of mind to even give her a perfunctory smile, being too busy staring at the VP on the other side of the table.

“Well, no... no complications.” Spartacus took a deep breath and then continued in a sober tone, “Unless you count the fact that Auctus is dead right now. And so is Pietros. And Barca was run out of town after that bloodbath with the Crejos.”

“And I just got my guts turned into a sieve in Mexico,” Crixus said, “and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because I suddenly got a hankering for cock. And I don’t remember Liscus or Rhaskos exactly setting up shop in Castro either. Or Duro, or Hamilcar...or Varro.”

The last name had Agron cringing even before he saw the look on Spartacus’ face, and he instinctively shifted in his seat, getting out of the line of fire, but Crixus carried on untroubled.

“Shit happens, Spartacus. It’s the one fucking thing in this world that doesn’t discriminate. You know that.”

The man then reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table, but Naevia was quick to snatch the bottle away and replace it with a glass of water, muttering something about painkillers under her breath.

Agron watched Spartacus close his eyes and rub his face; and for what seemed like minutes, the silence lingered around the table. And Agron knew it was his place to say something now; after all, this was supposed to be his battle to fight not Crixus’ of all people. But then, just as he was about to go on a probably badly thought-out speech about brotherhood and solidarity and Mexico, he watched the president’s lips slowly curve into a smile.

“ _This_ is what you two finally decide to agree on?” the man said and let out a tired laugh as his eyes kept flitting between the two of them. “How long have I tried to get you to work together on _anything_? Years? Forever?” He scratched his chin and shook his head. “And now you’re telling me that all I needed to do was to find Agron a boyfriend?”

Agron opened his mouth but didn’t get further than when Spartacus was speaking again.

“You and Crixus actually agreeing on something?” He downed the rest of his drink in one go. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should listen.”

“Sign of the apocalypse more like,” Agron said and shot a wary look at the VP who sent him a dark grin in return.

“Don’t get used to it, Wiener schnitzel. It’s just all this fucking medication, mellowing me out and shit.” He leaned back in the chair and drank his water and scoffed. “And they said there’d be no harmful side-effects.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Agron looked up and gave the man a tired smile. “Hey you.”

Nasir sat down at the other side of the otherwise empty table and quickly stole Agron’s half-drank beer away from him. Agron was too tired to protest, or even to make some ill-advised joke about the legal drinking age that would have probably gotten his ass kicked over a few state lines.

“So back in one piece again, huh?” Nasir asked as he gave Agron a subtle once-over over the rim of the bottle.

“I guess someone up there must like me.”

Nasir smiled. “Well, at least they got good taste.”

Agron huffed out a dry little laugh to himself and shook his head. Then he took a better look at the other man, who was now getting up close and personal with the neck of the beer bottle, and quickly decided to concentrate on something else for the moment. Spartacus might have conceded the fight surprisingly easily tonight, but sex in the clubhouse – sex on this damn table if Nasir kept that up much longer – would probably still be a step too far too soon.

So he cleared his throat and looked away. “So anything interesting happen while I was away?”

“Well, nothing much...” Nasir shrugged and kept drinking Agron's beer. “Though, I think I can understand Lugo almost half of the time now. So I guess that’s something.”

“And you’ve made new friends,” Agron said with a nod towards the pool table.

Nasir followed his line of sight and smiled a little wider.

“Chadara? Yeah, she works at the diner down the road. Seems nice.”

“A pretty girl.”

Agron was going for nonchalant, but nevertheless, Nasir’s eyes were quickly on him again, and this time there was an eyebrow arching high over one of them.

“Also not exactly my type. So no need to be jealous.”

Agron grabbed his beer back, rolling his eyes, and then went to take a swig of it only to find the bottle empty. And this time he wasn’t all too careful about how and how loudly he set it down on the table.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Okay, then.”

“I’m not.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

“I’m n...” He let his head fall back over the back of the chair with a groan and closed his eyes. “Fuck this, I should’ve just stayed in Diego and never come back, shouldn’t I?”

“And left me here with Lugo? Pining after you?”

Agron opened up one eye and peered across the table. “You’ve been pining after me, then?”

“Well, Lugo more than me. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

And Nasir was smiling and so close and so far at the same time; and after about twenty more seconds Agron just couldn’t take it anymore. He might have not seen the man in three days, but somehow never during that time had Agron missed him more than he was missing him right now. And enough was fucking enough.

“I took the truck here, so I’ll give you a ride home if you want. It’s getting late, anyway.”

Nasir looked around him. “Do you think that’s a good id–”

But by then Agron was already on his feet.

“The best idea I’ve had all week. Come on. I’ll explain everything in the car.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

“Move your ass, you’re scaring the neighbors,” Nasir said as he kept dragging Agron by the wrist, first in the front door and then through the empty apartment, until they made it to the door that Agron had to assume was Nasir’s. Mostly because that was where they were stopping.

Once Nasir had the lock opened, Agron stepped through the doorway and looked around the small room while doing his best to keep his reactions to himself. Nasir had clearly done what he could with the place, but it was still just this side of a health hazard, and Agron had to seriously fight the urge to just throw the man over his shoulder and haul him away. Not that he personally cared too much about the chipped walls or the rescue furniture or the water damage on the ceiling, but some people just deserved better than that.

“Look, it’s not great, I know,” Nasir was saying as he walked inside, “But it’s...well, home is a big word, but it’s...you know... _mine_.”

He kicked an empty cardboard box under the table and then looked back over his shoulder with a cringing smile.

“I know. Still a shithole, right?”

Agron put on a reassuring smile and closed the door behind him.

“I’ve rented worse places,” he said and walked up to the other man, wrapped his arms around him, kissed him behind the ear. “And I’m not exactly here for the atmosphere, anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re here for the sterling conversation, huh?”

Agron had to close his eyes for a second, and then he gave the man’s hair a fleeting kiss that left a faint taste of engine oil on his lips, before he let go and went to sit down on the patched-up armchair opposite the mattress on the floor.

“We could always play Scrabble,” he said and smirked at the look he received in reply. “Come on, I can’t spell for shit, so you’re bound to win.”

“My collection of board games is a little on the thin side at the moment. Sorry.”

“Well, I’m not picky, I’ll do whatever,” Agron answered and leaned back in his seat and toed off his boots. “So what did _you_ have in mind?”

Nasir looked around him and let out a breath that left his shoulders sagging a little, and then he walked over and flopped down on Agron’s lap, making the chair squeak under their combined weight.

“A proper bed for tonight and a shower with some water pressure would be nice.”

“Anything else?”

“Chinese.”

Agron smiled to himself as he reached around the other man to get his shoes back from the floor.

“You’re going high maintenance on me all of a sudden, huh?”

“Maybe. Got a problem with that?”

Agron pushed them both off the chair with a groan.

“Your wish. My command.”

Nasir rolled his eyes. “Can we just get out of here?”

 

* * *

 

Agron took another bite of the eggroll and shifted in his seat and glanced over at the head of the bed, just as Nasir was finishing his harrowing tale of an oil change gone wrong.

The other man was sitting cross-legged against the headboard, Agron’s threadbare t-shirt stretching over one bare knee. Most of his ponytail had come loose, and he had to fight to keep the hair from his face as he popped the last piece of fried fish in his mouth. He licked the remnants of grease from his fingers and looked up at Agron and smiled.

Agron was not a religious person by any stretch of the word, but if he had had to describe Nasir right at that moment: in a coffee stained shirt a size or two too big, a smudge of sauce on the corner of his mouth, stubborn locks of unwashed hair covering his eye…Well, Agron had never seen an angel, had never had any inclination to see one and didn’t even believe in any of that shit; but if there ever were one, then it would be him.

And Agron had no idea how it had happened or where he had come from, but there it was, a goddamn saving angel, sitting on his ancient box-spring in this drafty old house in middle-of-nowhere California.

“You’re staring again.”

Agron blinked a few times and then gave the other man his best apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“You know, one of these days you’re gonna have to tell me what it is.”

“What is what?”

“What it is you see when you look at me like that.”

Agron crawled up to the head of the bed and picked the empty take-out carton from Nasir’s hands.

“Dessert,” he answered and threw the box on the floor and smiled a little wider

“And you say _my_ lines are bad.”

“It’s all in the delivery, babe.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but Nasir stopped him with hands on his chest.

“Babe?”

“I’m trying shit out. No good?”

Nasir made a show of thinking it over while his hands kept sliding along Agron’s bare skin all the way down to his boxers.

“I guess I can learn to live with it,” he said and stretched the elastic with his thumb, “But I’d still keep trying, if I were you.”

“Will do.”

And then Nasir’s hands were back on Agron’s skin again, and soon enough Agron found himself being pulled down for a kiss. And he dived in. With tongue and teeth and hands desperately tugging at Nasir’s shirt until it was lying forgotten at the foot of the bed. After that, though, he took his time. For once, there was no rush; they had all night, and he was going to make the most of it. And by the sound of it, he wasn’t the only one. And when the other man arched against him and hooked his heals behind Agron’s thighs, Agron was long gone thinking about anything else and would have happily just kept on doing this for the rest of forever. But at some point they did have to come up for air.

“So now what?”

“I think you already promised me...” Nasir leaned away to reach for something from the nightstand. “...this.”

Agron snatched the condom from between his fingers and tutted out loud. “Whatever happened to foreplay, huh?”

“So that hour it took us to get from the front door to here, what was that about then?”

“Me being a good host. That don’t count.”

Nasir smirked but then quickly bit his lip. “Okay. Fine. I _guess_ you could talk me into a blowjob,” he said and gave an exaggerated sigh, “maybe.”

“I have a better idea.”

Nasir propped himself up on his elbows and was in the middle of giving Agron a quizzical look, when suddenly Agron’s phone started buzzing on the night stand, and he flopped down on his back again with a groan.

Agron reached for the cell and then muted the call without as much as a glance at the caller ID and threw the phone somewhere over his shoulder. It clattered noisily on the wooden floor. And maybe there had been a time when Agron would have minded – about the floor and the phone and whoever was on the other end – but that time was not today.

“Fuck’em,” he said as he crawled back up between the other man’s thighs and was awarded with a smile and hands in his hair drawing him in for a kiss.

“No...fuck _me_.”

“First things first.”

Nasir raised an eyebrow and Agron followed suit.

“Turn around.”

 

* * *

 

The desk at the back of the gym had been fine for a quick fuck, and the shower had definitely been more than pleasant enough, just like the front door earlier – even if the floor had been a little tough on the knees. But if Agron was honest, he would still prefer the bed to a more exotic location any day. The mattress was soft, the sheets were still mostly clean and there was enough room to move. There was enough room for _positions_.

God, how he’d missed positions.

And then for the briefest of moments he had to wonder how long exactly had it been since he last had sex like this. All night, on the bed and face to face – well, mostly. And if the answer by any chance happened to be over three months, was that supposed to mean anything or not.

But at that point Nasir had already straddled his lap and was pinning him back down against the mattress, and Agron could barely remember his name anymore, let alone whatever stupid question he had been thinking about the moment before. And then, not long after that, his mind was more or less wiped clean altogether.

Their first attempt at afterglow ended in a tongue-wrestling-match-turned-wrestling-match that quickly devolved into round two and a half. But after that – finally – Agron was literally too spent to move and had to plead for mercy. Not that the other man seemed to have that much fight left in him, either.

For a long while they stayed like that, too tired to speak, Agron splayed on his back and Nasir sprawled haphazardly over his chest, drawing random patterns on the skin.

“You’re weird, you know that, right?”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Nasir chuckled and then shifted on top of him and practically slid along the skin until most of his weight was back on the mattress again.

“It’s just that with all this macho bullshit flying around, I always thought you’d be more the kind of guy who just bends you over and fucks you, no questions asked. And instead you’ve just been so...sweet.”

Agron groaned. “Again, thanks.”

“No, you know...nice.”

“Keep digging.”

“Considerate?”

“So what you’re really saying is I’m boring you with all this vanilla, huh?”

“Do I look _bored_ to you?”

With some effort, Agron peeled his head off the mattress and made a show of looking the other man up and down. “You look like you could use some sleep.” He picked away some of the damp curls sticking on the man’s skin and then wiped away an errant stain from his neck. “And a shower.”

Nasir chuckled again and swatted his hand away.

“And I guess I can always bend you over, if you want,” Agron continued as his hand found its way back on the man’s bare back, “But I’m pretty sure I need a sandwich first. And like a week and some Gatorade.”

“You know what I meant, though, right? You don’t exactly read sensitive. Or versatile.”

“Well, I don’t know about sensitive...” He stopped to spit some of Nasir’s hair out of his mouth. “The way I see it is, if all I need is to get off, then I can always do that on my own. If there’s other people there, then it should be, you know, a group effort. That’s all.”

“And how big a group are we talking about?”

Agron snorted. “Ideally? Three to five. More than that and you’re just doing it for the bragging rights. Next question.”

“And these two to four people you’re having all this sex with? Would I know any of them?”

“Now who’s jealous?”

“Just scouting out the competition.”

“There’s no competition,” Agron said with a sigh and then rolled his eyes at the smile he received in return. “Okay, was that the last one, or are you gonna go for the whole twenty questions?”

“Well, what about...that other thing...”

“Y’know, if all you wanted was to hear how amazing your dick is, you could’ve just asked straight up. I’m not shy.”

“I wasn’t...” Nasir groaned and buried his face in Agron’s chest. “That’ll fucking teach me to try and have a serious discussion with you ever.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I do happen to think your dick is amazing. Grade A, no question.”

Nasir groaned louder and Agron chuckled but in the end decided to go for a serious answer, before the other man ended up burrowing through the skin.

“Look, that thing that you thought I was thinking before... Yeah, I guess I used to think that. That it would somehow make me less gay or more of a man or some shit like that. But then at some point you just realize that they’re gonna call you a fag no matter what you do or how you do it. So why not do what you want and let them cry about it. It’s their fucking problem.”

“Well look at you being all modern and shit.”

“Or maybe I just have enough actual problems to deal with to get that stuck-up about something as simple as fucking.” He sighed and wiped his hand on the edge of the sheet. “And speaking of getting stuck...We should probably have that shower now.”

Nasir hummed in apparent agreement but didn’t make an effort to move, so in the end Agron had to pull away from under him and then practically drag him to the edge of the mattress himself.

“Come on, you lazy ass.”

“I’d say my ass has been anything but lazy tonight,” Nasir said as he finally appeared behind him on the floor.

Agron rolled his eyes.

They made their way across the room, and Agron opened the bathroom door and Nasir ducked under his arm to walk in first, smirking at him over his shoulder as he went past.

“Now, if you are a good boy and won’t hog all the water, I might just let you wash my hair.”

But the smile died on Nasir’s lips when he saw the grin that slowly spread on Agron’s face in return. And the fool that he was, he tried to get away, but Agron blocked the door and quickly caught him, forcing out a less than elegant squeal from his captive, before manhandling the both of them into the tiny shower in the corner.

The door slammed close behind them and Nasir’s laugh kept echoing in the room and bouncing off the cracked tiles, loud enough even under the sound of falling water.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up getting too long, so I had to chop it up into three. Hence the two extra chapters (in case anyone was wondering about those.)  
> 

 

Agron kept pushing the other man in front of him as they made their way across the lot. Nasir’s step was a little less steady than it had been earlier that night, and Agron had to grab a fistful of his shirt to keep him from toppling over when they finally reached the garage door.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” Nasir answered quickly – maybe a little too quickly – then stumbled on his feet and bumped back against Agron’s chest, grabbing the arm that was now keeping him upright. “Maybe. Gannicus had...That is, there might have been some...Tequila. At some point.”

He turned around abruptly and looked up with a wide smile, even while blinking at the harsh yard light.

Well, at least he was a happy drunk; it could’ve been worse.

“So why did you drag me out in the middle of the night, anyway? You’re not making me work on my birthday, are you?”

As the other man was speaking, Agron kept trying to fish the keys out of his pocket, an action that was made a hell of a lot more difficult by the way Nasir was now leaning against him, arms winding around his waist, hands slipping under his shirt.

“I have something to show you.”

“Uh-huh. I bet you do.”

Agron shook his head and rolled his eyes – the whole nine yards – and then pushed the other man gently aside as he finally freed his keys and went to open the door.

“It’s your present, alright?”

“Wrapped a bow around your dick, didn’t you?”

Agron ducked under the half-open roll up and flipped on the lights.

“No.”

He could hear a snort behind him, and then Nasir’s arms snaked around him again until Agron grabbed them and peeled them away. Not that he was necessarily against the concept of touching, tonight or in general, but he had something to do here and it was getting distracting.

“Look, do you want to see it or not?”

“Your dick? You know, the novelty’s kinda worn off by now.”

He gave the man a half-hearted glare over his shoulder, and Nasir responded by biting his bottom lip and holding up his hands.

“Okay, okay, sorry. And yes, I would really like to see my present now, please. And thank you.”

This time, Agron resisted the eye-roll – though it was touch and go there for a second – and took the other man by the waist again and then walked him towards the corner at the back.

“Here you go.”

For a full minute Nasir didn’t say anything, just stared at the bike that was standing on the tarp on the floor, all polished chrome and smooth leather.

“When did you...”

“Here and there, mostly on Sundays,” Agron answered and pulled him closer. “It’s still missing a second exhaust pipe and the starter’s loose, but I thought you could as well have it now. It being your birthday and all.”

He rested his chin against Nasir’s head and waited, but when he didn’t get a reply, he finally decided that the other man could do with a little prompting. “So what do you think? I mean, it’s not exactly the newest engine out there, but it’s a hell of a lot better than–”

“You’d really let someone ride that?”

Nasir looked up at him over his shoulder in clear disbelief, and Agron let out the breath he’d been holding.

“It’s a bike. It should be on the road, not in a fucking museum.”

Nasir turned his attention back to the Harley, and Agron did the same.

“Look, I know it’s still a work-in-progress, so I get if it’s a little–”

“But won’t it...” Nasir paused to scratch his head. “Won’t it just be a constant reminder? Every time you see it, it’ll just make you think of–”

“I don’t need the bike to remind me,” Agron answered. It came out a little more harshly than intended, but in his defense, it had been a long day. Not to mention, it was now starting to be clear that the bike would be another missed mark under his belt.

“Look, it was just an idea, don’t worry about it. We’ll find you another bike,” he said and patted the man’s shoulders. “Come on, I think Lugo made you a cake. You don’t wanna miss that.”

“Agron, wait...”

He felt a hand gripping the back of his cut, and he stopped in the middle of the floor, feeling like an even bigger idiot if that was even possible. Okay, sure, it might have stung a little, but that still was no reason to be stropping off like a kid with a tantrum. He was supposed to be a grown ass man for fuck’s sake. Mostly.

So he put on a smile and turned around.

“No, really, you’re right,” he started, keeping his voice steady, “You should have your own ride and not some hand-me-down.”

“I don’t need _another_ bike, this is fine. It’s perfect. I just don’t understand...”

And then without warning, Nasir stepped closer and practically jumped up to hug him, wrapping his arms around Agron’s neck tight enough that his feet left the ground.

“Thank you.”

It was such an extreme reaction – even from a semi-drunk person – that it took Agron a moment just to huff out a laugh in response.

“Babe, it’s only an old Low Rider with a leaky transmission, not the fucking moon.”

“It’s your brother’s bike,” Nasir said as he slowly pulled away and his boots found the floor again, “It’s part of you, and you’d give it to me? Don’t you get why that might be a big deal?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Nasir rested his head on Agron’s chest with a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll explain it to you...just...once the booze wears off, alright?”

“Okay.”

They stayed like that for a while.

“So this cake,” Nasir asked then and pulled away enough to see Agron’s face again, grabbing the front of his vest for balance, “d’you think it’s edible? Cos I could really do with some food right about now.”

 

* * *

 

The clubhouse door closed after Nasir’s back and Agron turned to Mira who was leaning against the front wall smoking a cigarette.

“I thought you doctors were supposed to be smarter than this?”

Mira smiled at him and flicked some ash on the ground. “Between this and... _that_ ,” she waved the cigarette towards the building behind her, “I’m guessing this’ll kill me slower.”

Agron couldn’t exactly disagree, so he accepted the offered smoke, lit it, took a long drag and finally exhaled, slow and satisfied.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Spartacus is hiding? Haven’t seen him all night.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mira said and rested a little heavier against the wall behind her. “I’m supposed to be leaving anyway. I’m just waiting for my ride.”

“That bad, huh?”

Now, it wasn’t as if that particular state of affairs was exactly news to anybody, but the pair had also been playing hot and cold for as long as Agron could remember, so he had learned long ago not to assume much either way.

She closed her eyes for a second and blew out some smoke. “It’s not _bad_. Never was. It just...is what it is. Nothing lasts forever, you know how it goes.”

“Right.” Agron cleared his throat and dropped the half-smoked cigarette at his feet, snuffing it out against the cracked asphalt. “Okay. Well, I’m sure the man will pop up somewhere eventually. And I’ll...see you around, Doc.”

He patted her arm and then reached for the door, but it flew open before he even had a chance to grab the handle. And then for a second, the front of the lot was flooded in music and loud voices, before the door slammed shut again with a heavy clang, silencing the noises from inside.

“Well, hello there, lover boy,” Saxa said as she walked out, dangling a helmet in each hand.

“Speaking of things that will kill you,” Agron said to Mira, only making Saxa smirk wider.

“Someone’s feeling cocky tonight, huh?” She passed the helmets to the other woman and zipped up her leather jacket as she spoke. “All happy and shit you’re not going out with a teenager anymore? Gosh, only a year to go and then you can even take him out to places. So exciting.”

And Agron glared, even though he very well knew it would be as effective as checking the oil with a matchstick.

“You’re lucky there are rules against hitting little girls, cos you’d be in trouble otherwise.”

“Ooh, am I supposed to be scared now?” Saxa kept smiling as she took a step back and made a familiar come-and-get-me gesture with her hands. “Like Mom always says, don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash, honey buns.”

“I’ve never heard her say that.”

“Maybe you should call her more often,” she replied and spread her arms wider, “Come on then, let’s go, big boy. Show me what you got.”

“I’m not gonna fight you.”

“Don’t you worry about dainty ol’ me, I’m sure Mira’s got my back. Actually...that’ll be two for the price of one for you. What do you say?”

Like usual, the woman had been able to get Agron to the end of his rope in less than three minutes, and he readied himself for a reply, when, out of nowhere, Mira suddenly beat him to it.

“Come on, Saxa, don’t tease the poor guy.”

Agron looked at her in surprise. She was the last person he’d ever thought to have in his corner in this. In anything.

“Thanks, Doc. Glad to have some adult company around here.”

But, oh god, should he have known better than that by now.

“Well, I think one should only pick on people one's own size,” Mira continued dead-pan, as she flicked the stub of her cigarette on the ground, “And anyway, when it comes to getting double teamed in the parking lot, me and her would probably be your last choice for that, am I right?”

Agron stared at her wide-eyed while Saxa – surprising no one – burst out laughing.

“See? I knew there was a reason why I liked you,” she said and hooked her arm under Mira’s, “Now all we need is to get you off that damn nicotine, and then I think you and I are going to get along just fine. Fucking fabulously even.”

 

* * *

 

Agron waded through the throng of people inside until he reached Donar standing alone by the bar. He grabbed a shot glass, filled it with the nearest alcohol – he didn’t really care what at this point – and proceeded to drink it all down in one, slamming the glass back down on the table when he was done.

“What’s your problem?”

“Women.”

Donar’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Well, that’s a first.”

“Don’t you fucking start as well,” Agron groaned, pulling up a stool for himself and slumping down against the bar.

Donar refilled his glass and topped off his own. “I’m just not gonna ask.”

“Wise choice,” Agron replied darkly and then kept twirling the drink around in front him for a good half-minute. “You haven’t seen the big boss anywhere, have you?”

“Disappeared in the back with our dear counsel some time ago. Don’t know what that shit was about, though.”

“With Laeta, huh?” Agron shrugged and stared in his drink. “Probably about Crassus again, then.”

“All these feds always after our asses, man,” Donar said and finished his whisky and poured himself another, “Makes a boy feel special, don’t it?”

Agron gave a dry laugh and then placed his glass back on the bar and got back to his feet. He didn’t need to get drunk tonight; he needed to talk to Spartacus, get Nasir away from Gannicus and his dubious stash of Tequila and then maybe, if he was really lucky, even see a glimpse of his own bed before sunrise.

“What about...” Donar pointed to Agron’s untouched drink.

“Go crazy, man,” Agron said belatedly over his shoulder, before disappearing through the back door.

In comparison to the full front room, the back of the house was blissfully empty and quiet, and he made it to the office door in no time. He knocked but didn’t bother to wait for an answer and opened the door.

“Spartacus...”

The lights were on but there was no one inside, and Agron frowned. Of course the other man could have just called it a night and gone home early, but it didn’t seem all that likely. It would be a cold day in hell when the president left the clubhouse before midnight for anything other than a job on the road.

Agron stepped back into the corridor and closed the door after him. He definitely would have preferred to talk to Spartacus tonight, but he really wasn’t in the mood for a late night hide and seek, if he was honest. It could wait till morning.

So he was all ready to walk back to the front of the house, when the sudden noise of furniture falling over stopped him on his feet, and he turned around again.

And Agron’s frown only deepened, when he realized where the noise was coming from.

When it came to the clubhouse and to who was and wasn’t allowed inside, their rules were far laxer than those of any other clubs Agron had ever made acquaintance with; but even here, the meeting room was off-limits. And everyone knew that. Only patched members were supposed to get in, and even on those rare occasions an outsider got an invite, it definitely wasn’t for a little chat over some legalese. That room was for club business and club business only; it was probably as close to a sacred room as you could ever get in a place like this.

“Spartacus?”

There was no answer, but Agron could make out some muffled noises from behind the door and instinctively stepped closer. A little voice in the back of his head was telling him to just leave it and walk away, but unfortunately he had never been that good at listening to that particular voice. So like the idiot that he was, he opened the door anyway.

“Spartacus, are y–”

Agron closed his mouth mid-word, but he closed his eyes even quicker.

Not quick enough, though.

And he cursed to himself as he slammed the door back shut in front of him. Of all the mental images to get stuck in his brain, this definitely was not the one he would’ve ever chosen.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for your patience, peeps. I promise there will be an end to this story, and it’s coming, it just... decided to take the scenic route, I guess. :)

 

Agron leaned back against the brick wall, twisting the cigarette idly between his fingers as he watched the tail lights of Laeta’s Toyota disappearing into the distance.

“Well...as long as it’s not complicated, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at the man sitting on the back steps, who quickly raised his hands in response.

“Okay, okay...I get it, Agron.”

“Do you? ‘Cos banging the one lawyer we have is really not the best–”

“Yes, you’ve made your point. Thank you.”

Spartacus leaned his elbows on his knees and hung his head, running all ten fingers through his hair.

“Look, I don’t know,” he said, sounding like he had to use all the air in his lungs just for that one sentence, “You tell me. What the hell was I thinking?”

It seemed it was less about _what_ he had been thinking and more about what he had been thinking _with_. At least if you asked Agron – and, to be fair, Spartacus had technically done just that _._ But it was clear that the president wasn’t in the mood for any more jokes right now, so Agron shut up and just stared at the cigarette in his hand for a moment, tapping the butt of it with his thumb.

“So _did_ she actually have any news about Crassus, then?”

“Well–”

“Though, I guess I shouldn’t blame her if she didn’t get to it. It’s hard to talk business with a tongue shoved down your throat. Among other things.”

Okay. That was the last one.

Spartacus threw him a tired look. “I’m starting to think you’re having too much fun with this.”

“Trust me, what I saw hurt me more than it ever hurt you,” Agron answered and gave him a tired smile in response. “Anyway, you were saying about Crassus...?”

The older man scowled at him for a moment longer but then gave up and scratched his head again and sighed.

“It’s just the same old, same old. They’re scrambling, so they’re harassing every club around, seeing if they can make someone speak, find something that’ll stick... you know the drill. Nothing specific on the table, though. Best Laeta could say is that at some point, somewhere, somehow something might happen. Maybe to us, maybe to someone else. Who knows.”

“They like to keep us on our fucking toes, huh?”

“And I could do without the exercise,” Spartacus said and buried his face in his hands again with an impressive groan. “All I ask is just one single month of staying above the red without some power-crazy, law-book humping idiot or another breathing down my neck... Just one month. Tell me, who do you have to kill around here for that?”

Crassus was the first obvious, if less than entirely serious reply on Agron’s list. But he closed his mouth before he ever got as far as answering. Because even beyond any actual moral qualms over the subject, there was just the simple fact that trying to lop off every state – or local, or federal or fucking Martian – official that came after the club was nothing but an exercise in futility. There would only be someone else there ready to take their place the next day.

No matter how much any of them would have liked to pretend otherwise, this wasn’t a video game or some ancient war where the enemy could be decimated to the last man – even theoretically. This was real life, and feds on their case was just the necessary evil they had to live with. It was the price to pay for the kind of freedom they had chosen for themselves.

“So if I’m hearing you right, the situation, as it stands, is that we don’t have enough money and the cops still don’t like us very much?” Agron asked then, picking engine grease from under his nails.

“More or less.”

He turned to Spartacus and smiled.

“So in other words...just another Saturday night.”

The other man kept staring at him, and the old lines between his brows only kept getting deeper and deeper as the seconds went by.

“Wait a minute. I thought you were supposed to be the cynical one around here?”

“Yeah well, I prefer realist, myself,” Agron answered, smiling wider. “And anyway, what’s life without a little optimism, eh?”

Spartacus kept looking at him even more strangely for another long moment, then he opened his mouth but quickly closed it again and cleared his throat instead, before starting over.

“Speaking of...I was hoping that we could keep what happened tonight just between us for now.”

“Are you asking or telling?” Agron smirked and didn’t wait for Spartacus to answer. “Don’t worry. Despite popular belief, I’m actually not that big on gossip.”

“It’s just that Mira–”

“She can take care of herself. And I’m the last person to be preaching to anyone about this stuff, anyway. Doctors, lawyers...whatever, man. I might be the sergeant, and I will take a bullet for you, but I still draw the line at worrying about your love life, okay?”

“All I meant is, when it comes to the club, Laeta’s not exactly the favorite person around here, especially with Crixus. So if this got out now, I’m just afraid it could all get a little–”

“Complicated?”

Spartacus looked up. It took a few seconds for the frown to turn into a smile, and then he was already laughing out loud.

“Have to say, you’re taking this a lot better than I imagined. You know, considering...”

Agron tapped the packet of cigarettes against his palm for a few times, but then shoved the whole thing back down into his pocket and scratched the back of his neck instead.

“You have enough on your plate without me piling on you,” he said and shrugged. “And you deserve some comfort every now and then just like the rest of us, Spartacus. As long as you’re sure that the woman won’t go bunny boiler on you and send all our asses to jail when you don’t call her tomorrow, then...whatever makes you happy.”

“She’s not–”

But Spartacus was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking coming from inside, followed by raised voices, then a chair being dragged against the floor and something heavy – a table maybe – falling over. The two men shared a look, and then Spartacus was already hanging his head again, sighing.

“Do you ever get the feeling that you might just be better off taking your bike on the road and never looking back?”

Agron huffed out a laugh and then pushed himself off the wall and walked over.

“Most days, man. Most days.” He took the stairs two at a time, patted Spartacus’ shoulder and opened the door. “Come on, it sounds like we’re missing out on a decent fight. Already crossed the porn off the list, so I could do with some more free entertainment.”

There was a beat of silence behind him.

“You know I love you. But don’t push it.”

“Is that what she s–”

“No. But I think she said something about you cleaning the toilets for the next three months... With your tongue.”

“I’ll shut up now.”

“Thought so.”

 

* * *

 

“I could’ve just taken the bus, y’know. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“A, there are no buses. And b, the last time I left you alone for five minutes, next thing I know I’m breaking up a goddamn brawl. So, sorry, but that’s not happening again.”

“Well, you still could’ve driven me _home_ , anyway.”

Agron sighed and then sighed again as he grabbed Nasir’s shoulders and kept steering him and his unstable feet towards the bedroom.

“This was closer and I wasn’t going to listen to you whining for one more minute, okay?”

“I don’t _whine_.”

“Oh-kay.”

“Well, next time _you_ ride in the back and see how _you_ like it,” Nasir said over his shoulder when they stopped at the bedroom door.

“Just get on the bed.”

Agron shoved him over the threshold, where Nasir suddenly stopped and then turned around with a newfound, if not slightly wobbly, smirk on his lips.

“Is that an order, sir?” He snorted and then only kept smirking wider. “No, lemme rephrase that. Is that a _fucking_ order, sir?”

Agron took him by the shoulders again and walked him backwards until his legs hit the mattress and he lost his balance, falling on his ass on the bed.

“No fucking. Now go to sleep.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. It’s my birthday an’ everything.”

Agron sat down on the foot of the bed himself and started yanking Nasir's boots off the pair of feet now dangling over the edge.

“Yeah, call me crazy, but I just rather have sex we both remember in the morning.”

If the disappointed noises Nasir was now making behind him were supposed to be subtle, he was royally failing, and Agron had to work even harder to chase away the smile that kept threatening him every time he wasn’t looking. How anyone could be so exasperating and goddamn endearing at the same time, he didn’t know, but apparently he was on the road to finding out.

“You know what I think?” Nasir asked after a beat of silence.

Agron dropped the second shoe on the floor and then decided to tug off his own while he was at it.

“Well, what do you think?”

“That I love you.”

Agron snorted and started peeling off his t-shirt. The jeans went next. “We’re at that point now, are we?” he said over his shoulder as he sat down again. “Don’t tell me, it’s Lugo, Gannicus, me and after that, _everybody_?”

“No. Just you.”

Agron didn’t have time to react – verbally or otherwise – because then he could already feel arms around his neck and the rest of Nasir draping against his back.

“And one more thing.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You really need to take your shirt off more often.”

Despite the sucker punch from five seconds ago, Agron now found himself unable to keep from laughing again, regardless. And, to be fair, that was such a common sequence of events by now that he was tempted to just start calling it ‘the Nasir experience’.

He lifted the man’s arms off of him, then turned around and grabbed his chin and wiped the smirk off his lips with a kiss.

“I honestly don’t know if you should never drink again or just be drunk always,” he said, chuckling, and then brushed a thumb over the man’s brow and kissed the band-aid there. “And next time you get into a fight, try not lowering you guard every time you go on offense, okay? Seems a shame to cover up this pretty face.”

And the other man just scoffed at him and then stuck out his tongue, leaving Agron no choice but to do the same.

Finally, he let the man go and clambered on the bed, just as Nasir made a one-eighty and fell face down on the mattress in an overly dramatic fashion – even for him.

“God, I’ve missed your bed.”

Agron reached for the bedside lamp while he kept shaking his head and fighting another smile at the same time.

And Saxa dared to say he was shit at multitasking.

“Well, I’m glad you two are reunited. Good night, you.”

“G’night,” Nasir mumbled into his pillow. “Love you.”

Agron’s hand froze on the light switch.

So, was this supposed to be a thing between them now? Or – and more likely so – would it just go into the mounting pile of stuff forgotten by morning? And which one exactly was the worse option again?

He turned off the light and rolled to his side, deciding to draw the other man closer before he ended up snuffing himself with the pillow. Now, Agron generally had little interest in waking up with a dead arm and a mouth full of hair, but maybe he could deal. For now.

“Love you too.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Well, well, well...someone’s up early.” Agron put the bottle of pills and the extra mug down on the coffee table next to the laptop and joined the other man on the couch. “And looking as fresh as ever.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

The tone just made Agron grin wider, and he looked over at the man who was scowling back at him from the other end of the sofa, a towel wrapped around his neck and his wet hair falling sadly down the sides of his face, slowly dripping water on his shirt.

“Come on, you needed that shower. And it _is_ nine a.m.”

“On a Sunday.”

“You know what they say. A minute wasted is a minute lost forever. An early bird–”

“Oh my god.” Nasir grabbed the end of his towel and pressed it over his face as he sank back into the cushions behind his back. “Just kill me now, please.”

Agron leaned back in his seat and lifted his feet on the table, taking a sip of his coffee with a satisfied sigh.

“Get a couple more Advils in you. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Nasir peered at him under a frown but then reached for the pills and the coffee anyway.

“I still hate you.”

“I know, babe. I know.”

They kept drinking their coffees in silence, until Agron could feel a toe digging into his thigh and glanced over.

“Okay. I don’t hate you.”

“Well, that was quick.”

Nasir smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “Mornings, man. You know?”

“Yeah, yeah...and a bottle of Tequila.” Agron chuckled and quickly grabbed Nasir’s foot before it had time to do any actual damage.

So then he got a wet towel hurled in his face instead.

“So what’s the score on the birthday, anyway?” he asked as he tried uselessly wiping the newly acquired coffee stains off his shirt before finally giving up and throwing the towel on the floor. “Worth the hangover and the band-aids?”

Nasir sighed into his mug, but he was smiling when he finally looked up again. “Yeah. I mean, come on, I even had a cake and everything. Hard to argue against that.”

“And how _was_ the cake?” Agron asked, genuinely curious.

“Surprisingly not-horrible,” he answered while his feet kept kneading Agron’s thigh in a way that was most likely unintentional yet not entirely unpleasant.

To be more precise, it was definitely pleasant enough to keep Agron from exacting revenge over the towel and the spilled coffee for the time being.

“Lugo wasn’t like a baker in another life or anything?” Nasir continued.

“Doubt it, but he doesn’t really talk about Scotland, so who knows what he got up to back there.”

“Well, anyway, that reminds me...” Nasir put the mug down and crawled to Agron’s side of the couch. “Thanks again.”

“I had nothing to do with the cake. Trust me.”

Nasir grinned and tugged at the front of his cut. “You can’t cook for shit, I know. I was talking about the bike.”

And Agron was just about to once more dodge and duck with another joke, but then stopped himself at the last minute.

“It’s just a gift.”

“Well yeah, I figured–”

“No, I mean...I get what you were saying yesterday, but it has nothing to do with Duro.” He paused to scratch his head and then quickly corrected, “Well no, of course it has _something_ to do with Duro, everything has, but...That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? _Everything_ reminds me. If it’s not the bike, then it’s an old t-shirt, or a record or some rerun on TV. But none of that is on _you_. I gave you the bike, because I want you to have it. That’s all.” He laughed. “I’m simple like that, you know?”

“But you understand what I meant? It’s not _just_ a bike; it’s part of–”

“My life. Yeah, I get it.”

“And...”

“And I want you to have it,” Agron repeated, then stopped and cringed. “Look, I don’t fucking know. I’m shit at this.”

“Nah, you’re better than you think,” Nasir said and took the coffee mug out of Agron’s hand and put it down on the table.

“And it’s a gift not a bribe. It’s yours...whatever hap–”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Nasir smiled and inched even closer. “Shame you need to be going, though.”

“Yeah.”

“ _Real_ shame.”

“Mm...”

“So how long we got? Thirty minutes?”

“Something...uh, mm...something like that.”

“And no way all those guys are gonna be on time anyway, right?”

Agron grinned and pulled at the man’s hair until they were face to face again.

“You’re bad influence,” he murmured, before Nasir shut him up again with another kiss.

At that point, Agron’s belt was already ripped open and Nasir’s t-shirt was three quarters up his chest. But then, suddenly, Nasir stopped and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I...” He swallowed and quickly pulled back about ten more inches. “Shit. Sorry.”

And the next thing Agron knew, the other man was already jumping off the couch and running.

 

* * *

 

He refilled the glass with water and handed it over when he crouched down on the floor.

“Better?”

Nasir nodded and then let his head fall back against the wall. “Way to kill the mood, huh?”

“Could’ve been worse, trust me. At least you didn’t puke on _me_.” Agron smiled at the raised eyebrow and maneuvered himself down to sit between the other man and the toilet bowl. “A bad weekend in Phoenix. Not my finest hour.”

“Well, someone gets around.”

Agron shrugged. “More than some less than others. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, must be nice,” Nasir sighed and drank some more of his water.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.”

Agron stared at him for a long moment, trying not only to read his face but to read between the lines left hanging in the air. And that was when the alarm finally went off in the back of his mind. All that was missing was a big, flashing neon sign with the word “fuck” written on it.

“Have you... Have you ever been with a guy before? Before me, I mean.”

Nasir snorted and looked up with an incredulous frown. “What the hell? Come _on_.”

But Agron didn’t flinch. “No, I mean...beyond _that_. In real life. Like a date, a boyfriend, a hook-up...anything?”

“I’ve had...friends... I mean...” Nasir frowned, then scowled and then finally gave up and fixed his eyes back on the floor. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. I just didn’t exactly have space in my life for stuff like that, that’s all. You know...before.”

And Agron really didn’t want to say it; he nearly didn’t. The words got stuck in his throat more than a couple of times on their way up, but finally he forced himself to man up and coughed them out.

“Well, you’re just nineteen–”

“Twenty.”

“You’re _young_. There’s time.” He gave a dry laugh. “And men. Bars and cities full of them, I’ve been told.”

Nasir drank half of his water and then slowly put the glass down on the floor. The clinking sound echoed in the silence of the room.

“Is that what _you_ want? Time and men?”

“Well, no. But then I’ve already had both, so...”

“And now you make it sound like you’re middle-aged or something,” Nasir said with a wry smile, “You’re not _that_ much older than me.”

Agron shrugged and they slipped back into that same old silence again, and Nasir leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a second.

“So, you tell me,” he said, more subdued and serious than a moment ago, “Would five more guys really make a difference? Would ten? Does it make a difference to you?”

But he continued before Agron had time to answer, sounding almost like he was having a debate with himself now and not Agron.

“I mean, how many guys would I need to meet first to know if _this_ is good or not? Like, do I really need a scorecard to know that? Isn’t it enough that I’m happy? That I’m happy here?”

Agron sighed and wedged his arm between the tile wall and Nasir’s back to pull him closer.

And there was that small, fucked up part of him that wanted nothing more but to say that of course it was enough, to lock all the doors and windows, wish the whole damn world and every other man in it away somehow and just have this. For fucking ever. But...

And maybe it was just one of life’s little ironies; or maybe it was just Agron’s crappy luck. Because of course the one time in his life that he actually cared about something this much, had something he wanted to hold on to this badly, he ended up caring too much to do that.

“I don’t want you to feel trapped, is all. To feel like there’s nowhere else you can go, so you have to settle for shit just because.” He twirled a lock of damp hair around his finger and watched it spin loose before doing the same again. “And I don’t want you to settle for the first guy who’s ever nice to you because you think you can’t do better.”

And Nasir stayed silent and Agron just kept winding more and more hair around his finger. But finally, after about a minute, Nasir looked up, resting his chin on Agron’s shoulder.

“This isn’t shit and I’m not settling,” he said, “I’ve done enough of that already to know better.” And then, almost abruptly, he was smiling again. “And I’m not trapped, either. I’ve got a new bike and everything, remember? I’ll just drive away if I need to.”

“Right.”

And guess Agron’s smile could have been more convincing, because Nasir shook his head at him and then grabbed his chin to make their eyes meet again.

“I’m younger but I’m not stupid, and I can decide things for myself. If I ever want to go, I’ll go. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I _can_ leave, but I’m not leaving. If that makes sense. Because I–”

But that was when Nasir’s eyes drifted away from Agron’s face, and suddenly he let go of Agron’s chin and grabbed Agron’s wrist in his hand instead.

“Don’t you have to be at the club by ten?”

“Fuck.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Agron double checked the time on his watch and then he was already up on his feet. “Sorry, but I really have to...”

“I know.”

“The truck keys are on the table, if you need to–”

“Okay, okay. Just go already.”

Agron stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

“And you’re sure you’re alright now?”

“For god’s sake,” Nasir mumbled, and scrambled up from the floor and walked over, grabbing Agron’s shoulders and pushing him through the doorway and out into the hall. “Come on, you should be going or you’ll be out of a job. And I’m not really ready to be supporting your ass just yet, okay?”

And finally Agron relented and smiled in return.

“But it’s such a nice ass.”

“Maybe. But _my_ ass comes first. Sorry.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wow, that’s it?” Nasir asked behind him as they walked to the front door. “No shade? No commentary? No jokes about how I always cum first anyway?”

“No time, babe. I’m already late.”

Agron opened the door, but then hesitated. He hated being late, but he hated unfinished business even more. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then turned around one more time.

Another five minutes wouldn’t really matter at this point, anyway. It would just be the difference between having his ass handed to him and having it handed to him raw _._

“Okay, just one more thing...about...last night...” He tucked hair behind Nasir’s ear, even though it was all tucked in there already. “You were pretty wasted, so you probably have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, but I just wanted to–”

“No, I think I know.”

“You...do?”

“It’s about what I said, right? The...love thing.”

“Right.”

Nasir was staring at his feet now, and Agron was just about to reach out and lift his chin and add something appeasing about how everyone says stupid shit they don’t mean when they’re drunk, and that he understood and how it definitely was no big deal, when the moment was suddenly broken by a familiar voice behind him.

“It’s ten a.m. on a Sunday, son. Shouldn’t you be in church by now?”

Agron turned and looked over to the foot of the front steps where Lucius had suddenly appeared, inexplicably with a puppy under each arm.

Resigned to his fate for now, Agron sighed and left Nasir with a pained smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“What’s with the Staffs?” he asked the older man as he finally stepped out on the porch.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “You know your dogs.”

“Mom ran a shelter,” Agron answered absently while he kept patting his pockets for his keys. “Anyway, whatever it is, it’ll have to wait ‘cos I need to be going.”

“Don’t worry,” Lucius said and then swung one of the dogs in Nasir’s direction, “I prefer talking to this friend of yours, anyway. And let that be a lesson to you, son. You’ll always get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

“Which just begs the question, why the fuck would I ever want to get flies in the first place?”

Once he finally located his keys, he jogged down the stairs, coming to a brief stop by the old man and his dogs. “I just finished resanding the floors, so don’t let these two piss all over, alright?” he said and gave the closest pup a quick scratch behind the ear. “And Nasir?”

“Yeah?”

Agron looked over his shoulder at the man in question, who was still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his barefoot legs crossed at the ankles.

“Later, okay?”

And the smile he got in return was the kind of smile Agron was pretty sure he’d never grow tired of seeing. The kind of smile that had him almost thinking... _maybe_.

“I’ll be here.”

 

* * *

 

“We started at ten,” Spartacus said and finally looked up from the papers laid out on the table, “I assume you knew that, since we _always_ start at ten.”

At the other side of the table Donar was shaking his head at him and Tychos gave him a brief sympathetic smile before quickly looking away. Brictius, leaning against a window with his arms folded across his chest, simply kept smirking as always.

Spartacus, on the other hand wasn’t smiling and Crixus sitting next to him even less so.

“You’re not in preschool anymore, asswipe. If you can’t bother to come in time to vote, then don’t fucking come at all.” He rocked his chair all the way back until it hit the plaster behind him. “Come on, Spartacus. Tell this one to hit the road already. There’s shit to do, and I’d like to get home sometime this century and I’m sure the guys would too.”

Agron swallowed down every reply he wanted to give and concentrated on the president instead.

“A few minutes here or there...does it really fucking matter? You haven’t even started yet, and I’m here now.”

“Crixus is right, rules are rules for a reason, Agron,” Spartacus said and then gave a sharp nod towards the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Agron took one last calming breath and then finally raised his hands, slowly. “Okay, okay. Gotta respect the rules. I get it.” He kept his eyes on Spartacus and cocked his head just a little to the side. “God forbid anyone ends up breaking the rules around here, am I right?”

He was halfway out the door when he heard Spartacus calling his name behind his back. And it took Agron a moment to successfully wipe the smile off his face, before he felt it was safe enough to turn around.

“Fine. Might as well stay since you’re already here,” Spartacus was saying, “It’s a packed schedule today, anyway. Nemetes will be out again soon, _and_ we need a vote on the new members, starting with Lyciscus. Not to mention we need to start planning this deal with the Greeks. I’d rather have all of you on board now, less hassle to sort out later on.”

“Spartacus, what the fuck–”

But the man ignored Crixus and only kept looking at Agron steadily as he spoke.

“Just don’t make it a habit, will you.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Agron grabbed an empty chair standing by the wall and then made Francisco scoot aside as he sat down at the table opposite the VP whose glare was ever-growing. Just as was Agron’s grin.

And he knew that the scales would balance out eventually and his luck would run out, as per usual, and the next shitstorm was probably already waiting just around the corner. But all that said, for now... As far as days went, this one was definitely shaping up to be one of the better ones.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads up: I'm afraid I'm all out of buffer now, so the next update (which will also be the last) will take a little longer than I originally thought. But I’ll be back some time in December. :)
> 
> ETA: Before I go, thought I should warn/reassure you that although the storyline has been fairly canon-inspired so far, the ending will be different to the show (so no mass dying in the last chapter.)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote way more than I was supposed to ...again. And added some characters I wasn’t supposed to originally (*hides under a table*). But hey, at least it’s finished now. :)
> 
> And thank you all so much for reading and commenting and everything. It really is and has been appreciated. <3

 

 

Agron left the bike at the clubhouse but skirted the front door and decided to head straight to the shop instead. He had recognized the two rides already parked at the front, and after having been on the road for five hours straight, he was too tired to deal with that particular high school drama right now. If he never had to play referee in another pissing match between the president and the VP again it would still be too soon.

And maybe, if it hadn’t been so damn exhausting, a part of him could have even found it funny how completely things had turned around in the past few months. Agron was used to being the one who was always treated like the child between the three of them, but now he was finding himself acting more and more like the parent, and there was a certain irony to be had in that.

But nevertheless, he had never intended to have children, and if he ever would get the inclination to adopt, it would definitely not be those two anyway.

He made his way across the empty lot and then came to a stop in the doorway and rested against the rusty frame for a second, catching the proverbial breath. Thank god some things around here at least stayed the same even amidst the madness.

“Zeppelin, huh?”

The man leaning against the workbench in the corner looked over his shoulder and the surprise on his face quickly gave way for a smile.

“Well yes, it is. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, this is ‘Communication Breakdown’ from their debut album that came out in ‘69 and is widely considered–”

“And now you’re mocking me.”

“Never.”

But Agron could see a glimpse of a familiar smirk right before the man turned his back on him again. And he had no choice but to smile to himself, as tired as he was, as he strode over to the back of the garage.

“So how was the weekend? Didn’t miss me, did you?”

Nasir scoffed and peeled Agron’s arms off of his waist.

“No. And stop that, you idiot. Anyone can walk in.”

“There’s no one here and the lot was empty,” Agron said, but he pulled away and took a step back anyway. “Though that makes me wonder, where in the hell _are_ everybody? I didn’t think I paid people for not showing up.”

The other man started fiddling with one of the bolts on the table – for no apparent reason as far as Agron could tell.

“It had something to do with Di Santo,” he said and frowned, “Apparently Spartacus is expecting him around again any minute now.”

Agron closed his eyes and leaned more heavily against the table. If there was someone he was even less eager to deal with today, then it would be that particular wannabe Corleone and his merry fucking men.

“Great,” he groaned and started rubbing the back of his neck where a familiar tension was building again. “That ought to be fun.”

Nasir glanced at him and then let the bolt in his hand drop back on the table. “Look, I’ve been meaning to–”

“Hey man, anybody home? Got myself some extra food here and was wondering if...”

Castus’ voices trailed off just as Agron turned around and caught his eye.

“Agron. You’re back.”

Agron knew that the smile he was able to plaster on his face was as weak as it was fake, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances. His day, as it seemed, was quickly going from bad to worse.

“And so are you. Apparently.”

The man by the door shrugged and briefly looked over his shoulder.

“The boss has some business to take care of around these parts. And yours truly’s on the clock. So yeah, here I am.”

Agron felt Nasir’s hand grabbing his arm, but he shrugged it off and stepped away from the bench and towards the door.

“Well, if your boss is out there, then what are you doing back here? Emergency oil change? Couldn’t figure out how to get the hood opened?”

“Never heard of a lunch break?”

Castus smiled the kind of smile that forced Agron to shove his hands in his pockets before he ended up doing anything that Spartacus would make him regret later.

“There’s a diner down the road if you’re looking.”

“Oh, I’ve done looking. Thanks, though.”

And Agron was almost certain that the man would throw a wink there at the end. But he didn’t and only shook the paper bag in his hand instead.

“Take-out’s more my deal anyway. I like to go where the wind takes me, you know? No good being young and alive but tied down with shit, if you get my meaning.”

And he kept on grinning while Agron kept shoving his hands deeper and deeper into his pockets, until he started to fear he would only end up pulling off his jeans.

“...But sorry, man. There’s only enough here for two.”

Agron breathed through his nose a couple more times and then slowly unclenched his jaw again.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said to no one in particular before shooting one last look over his shoulder at Nasir who was still standing by the work bench, looking like he was about as comfortable in his skin right now as Agron was.

Well, he could go cry Agron a river for all he cared.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

  


* * *

  


“So we are in agreement then?”

Di Santo, dressed in his polyester suit, with a gold chain hanging heavy around his neck and his hair greased back in a ponytail, reached out his hand to Spartacus with a wide smile.

“I will get half from you, half from Vaughn. And you will divide the money between yourselves at your own discretion.”

The president’s smile was less than exuberant, but it was stills miles warmer than anything Agron was able to put on.

“That was the deal, Heracleo,” Spartacus answered and took the offered hand after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Well then. Good doing business with you, King Spartacus,” the older man said with another toothy grin and a mock bow, “And I shall see you gentlemen again next week. For the final transaction, if you will. Castus can let you know where and when, since he seems to come by here most days anyway.” Di Santo made a show of looking around the room as he walked to the door. “The man seems to have taken a shine to this place. God knows why. But one shouldn’t judge, I guess.”

The door had barely closed behind his back when Crixus was already turning to Spartacus and the permanent scowl on his face only seemed to deepen with every harshly drawn breath.

“So now we’re not only doing business with that cartoon character but Vaughn as well? Talk about scraping the fucking barrel, man. Come on, there must be some other way–”

“Unless you can turn yourself into a pile of money, Crixus, no there isn’t.” Spartacus sat down on the edge of the desk and shook his head. “Money’s running out and it’s running out fast. Di Santo’s the last chance saloon. We hold our noses and do it, or...”

“But with Vaughn and his idiots? Really? Who’s next, the fucking KKK?”

“Well, maybe you should have thought about all this _before_ your solo venture earlier? It’s a little late to be crying about it now. _Brother_.”

Agron closed his eyes and sighed. How long had it taken this time? Two minutes? Must have been a new record.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Crixus asked, shoving Agron aside as he stepped towards the desk.

“The only reason we are in this mess is because your little ego trip cost us the deal with Stavros in March and subsequently each and every contract thereafter.”

Crixus laughed and stepped even closer until the two men were practically standing nose to nose.

“The reason we’re in this mess is because _you_ insist on stuffing this place with more and more people every fucking week, when you don’t even have the money to feed the people already here. If you want to run a homeless shelter than do so but on your own fucking time. And leave the running of the club to someone who can lead and knows what the fuck he’s doing.”

“And remind me again what happened the last time you tried to lead on your own? Oh yes, you came running back with a tail between your legs, that’s what happened. You are lucky you had a place to come back to, if I’m honest.”

“Okay, maybe it’s time we all take a–”

But before Agron had time to finish the sentence, or anyone to give the first punch, there was a knock on the door and then Gannicus was already stepping in.

“Hey guys, if you’re not busy for lunch I was just wondering...” He stopped and looked around the room and then just grinned even wider as he held up his hands. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done. No rush.”

The door closed behind him again and Spartacus was the first one to blink, and he finally took a step back from Crixus, clearing his throat.

“We all have bills to pay. And some of us new mouths to feed soon.” He looked over at Crixus and their stare held for a second until the VP finally nodded somberly in reply. “And the cold truth is, we need to find a way to keep our heads above the water. And this is the only option.”

“Won’t do much good if those heads all end up behind bars anyway,” Agron muttered under his breath.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the silence that fell in the room told him that he had been heard after all. And suddenly there were two pairs of eyes on him again.

“And what does that mean? Now you think this Castus could be telling the truth after all?” Spartacus asked, folding his arms. “I thought you didn’t believe him?”

“Nasir seems to believe him,” Agron answered as noncommitally as he could. “Not that I’m exactly convinced, but... What if? It’s a hell of a risk to take, isn’t it? If the only options are going broke or going to jail, then yeah, I’d rather eat nothing but tuna for the next six months than rot in a cell for twenty or more.”

“There’s too many people’s livelihood riding on this for us to pull out just because some guy can spin a nice story. Is there anything to back up what he said? A piece of paper, a phone call, an email...anything?”

Agron shook his head.

“But why _would_ he be spinning it, though?” Crixus asked, jumping in, “That’s what I’ve been thinking. That’s some heavy stuff to be joking about. Word gets out he’s ratting out his boss, and he’ll find himself without a job first and with a bullet in his neck next.”

Spartacus looked from Crixus to Agron and scratched his beard.

“Well, can you think of any reason why Castus would be lying? Heracleo’s right, the man has been hanging around here more than would be necessary. Is there something he thinks he could get out of it? Is he fishing for another job or something?”

“Or something.” Agron sighed.

“Greasing the wheels, I see. In that case...” Spartacus pushed himself of the desk and grabbed his keys from the table. “We’re not going to be freaking out this far in the game just because some guy is not happy with his 401k. Heracleo will get his guns, we’ll get our money, Castus can drop his CV in the mail, and then we can all move on with our lives.”

He walked to the door but turned around one more time.

“That is...as long as we all agree?”

  


* * *

  


“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Gannicus said, sidling up to Agron as they walked out the door, “that new guy around here?”

“Lyciscus?” Agron asked, “What about him?”

“I know I’ve seen him somewhere before. He’s not from back east, is he?”

“No. Arizona.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Some old friend of Nemetes’, they go back years, apparently.”

A packet of cigarettes fell to the ground when Agron grabbed his brain bucket from the shelf in the hallway.

“Look, could it be that maybe you’re just mixing him up with some other blond white guy with a bad shaving job?” he asked as he bent down to pick the packet from the floor. “It’s not like those are exactly a rare species around here.”

Gannicus chuckled and kept the front door open as they followed Spartacus and Crixus out into the parking lot.

“Right you are, man. Probably best stop worrying my pretty little head about it, am I right?”


	30. Chapter 30

The music and the voices disappeared again when the dorm room door slammed shut after Nasir’s back.

“So you’re saying you don’t trust me?”

“No. I’m saying I don’t trust _him._ ”

“Fuck, Agron... I know you’re stubborn as shit, but...You really cannot be an adult and listen to what Castus has to say, even for a second?”

“I’ve known Nemetes for years and the guy’s always had my back. So no, I really don’t have time to listen to that bullshit, especially not from your little friend.”

“So...what then? You’d just rather be out there comparing dick sizes?”

“Still better than being out there gagging for it like some people.”

“Wow. Really? _Really_? You know what, if that’s how it is, then forget about it. And why not go ahead and punch me too while you’re at it. Sounds like you want to.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’m waiting...”

“Don’t you fucking dare, okay. If that piece of shit wants to pick a fight with me and then finds a fist in his face, he better not start crying about it. He had it coming from day fucking one. That had nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, whatever lets you and your precious little ego sleep at night.”

“Nasir–”

“Look, was that it? ‘Cos if you’re done, I’m gonna go. I got shit to do.”

“Shit like what exactly?”

“And you lost the right to know that about five minutes ago. Don’t worry, I’ll be back eight sharp on Monday morning. That is, unless I’m fired now as well.”

“You’re not–”

“Monday it fucking is then.”

Agron already knew that he had it bad, knew that he had had it bad most likely since the first day, and things had been getting exponentially worse in that regard ever since. But he just hadn’t realized _how_ bad he had it. Not really. Not until now.

Yes, he knew he loved the man. And yes, he knew he’d rather take a bullet himself every day of the week than ever see Nasir be hurt by one again. But that was different. Because there was loving someone and there was not wanting to see them dead. And then there was sitting home alone on a Saturday night, staring in your third glass of Johnnie Walker while Hendrix was playing the soundtrack to your little pity party.

And that shit right there...that shit was _different_.

Some would say pathetic even.

And if there by any chance happened to be a heaven for long lost pets and little brothers, he knew that in there, Duro was laughing his ass off right now.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Spartacus leaned on his hand on the wobbly warehouse table and hung his head. “Is that the rest of it?”

“Yeah, that’s all,” Agron answered and closed the lid on the last crate and lifted it on top of the others. Then he took a second look at the president’s face and leaned back against the pile, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, if there’s something I need to know...”

The older man shook his head with a pained smile and finally turned around. “It’s just...Don’t you ever have the feeling that there’s something else we could be doing? Something else than...this?”

“It puts food on a lot of tables, man. Tables that would go without otherwise.”

“I know, but–”

“So maybe it’s not ideal. But fuck, all we’re doing is making it easier for all these assholes around us to kill each other. It’s not like we’re dealing heroin at a playground.”

“Because guns never kill innocent people,” Spartacus said with another sigh, “And none of these bullets will ever stray, right?”

“You know what I meant,” Agron said but didn’t have time to continue when his phone suddenly went off.

He frowned at the number flashing on the screen; he had already missed one call from Gannicus five minutes ago. Well, now he was going to miss this one as well. And then he was going to put his phone on silent from here on out until this whole goddamn deal was done, and he would hopefully never have to deal with Di Santo or – more specifically – any of his little helpers ever again.

But for some reason, at the last ring Agron changed his mind and answered anyway.

“Yeah, hi... Look man, we’re kinda in a tight spot here, so if you’re not–”

_Fuck._

“...He’s what?”

_Fuckety fuck, fuck, fuck._

Apparently Spartacus could see the answer already on his face, because the president didn’t even bother to ask if it was bad news or not when Agron finally finished the call a minute later.

“What’s wrong?”

“Gannicus just remembered where he’s seen Lyciscus before,” Agron answered and then proceeded to recount what the other man had just finished telling him. It didn’t take him long; it was pretty straightforward, actually.

They were screwed. And not in the fun way.

And Agron owed someone an even bigger apology than he had previously thought. Maybe it would even end up being too big of an apology, who knew. But then, one failed relationship wouldn’t make much of a difference if he only found himself behind bars for the foreseeable future anyway.

“So now what?”

“We still have 48 hours,” Spartacus said, snapping into action, “Donar will have to find a way to get rid of this stock. Tell him to dump it in the river if that’s what it takes. Nasir can take care of the security footage. And then...Who do we have left back home we can trust? Naevia and Mira at least? Who else?”

“Brictius and Verenda,” Agron answered after a moment of contemplation, “After what happened to Maggie last year, I really don’t think they’ll be making deals with the sheriff anytime soon, do you?”

Spartacus shook his head slowly as he leaned over the table, and Agron could practically see the wheels turning in his head. In a weird way, it was almost a relief; it had been a long time he had seen the other man this determined or driven by anything. If only it had been in different circumstances, Agron could have even been happy about it.

“They will have to scrub everything squeaky clean on that end, leave no traces that any guns were ever there,” the president continued, “And I’ll call Crixus to meet me and the rest back at Oenomaus’. We need to get some smokes and mirrors going up and fast before Vaughn gets a whiff of this. He and his little friends will just have to take the rap tomorrow.”

“And what about me? I’m just supposed to stand here waiting for the cops with a hand up my ass or what?”

“No. You’re going to go find Castus and then grovel like there’s no tomorrow.”

“What–”

“I’m not asking you to like it. Or even to mean it. Just as long as you make damn sure he thinks you do.”

Spartacus grabbed one of his guns from the table and put it back in its holster before taking out his phone and starting to dial the numbers as he walked away, leaving Agron no option but to follow him, since the man was still talking.

“If Castus really is so willing to help us as he previously made himself out to be, then let’s see him put his money where his mouth is. And if you need to throw him a parade and tell him he’s the greatest living human on earth to get him to spill everything he knows and can find out, you’ll do it. Understood?”

“Spartacus...”

“ _Understood_?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get a move on. Time’s running out and I rather get out of here before we find a SWAT team behind the door making a house call.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“This doesn’t exactly look like Heracleo’s kind of place,” Agron said.

“Good thing we’re not looking for _Heracleo_ , then _._ ”

Nasir flicked the cigarette on the ground and leaned back against the bike again. The green light from the neon sign in the window was dancing on his face when he finally looked up.

“So? You’re not gonna ask me how I know he’s here? But then I guess you’ve probably made your mind up without my input already anyway. You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Nasir–”

But this wasn’t the time or place for that discussion, and Agron swallowed down the rest of the sentence along with most of the tightness in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter now.” He looked at his watch. “As long as you’re sure he’s here. We really don’t have time to waste tonight.”

“He’ll be out soon,” Nasir said, glancing at the front of the bar before looking up at Agron again, “But really, don’t you think we should talk–”

“Nasir! Man, it is you!”

The bar door closed behind Castus’ back and he ambled over with a step that said he had had something to drink but not enough for what they were supposed to accomplish tonight.

“I was gonna call it a night, but damn, I’m always willing to reconsider in the right company. So what owes me the pleasure? I mean, isn’t this a little outta your...”

Then his eyes strayed to Agron and the smile disappeared in an instant, and he instinctively thumbed the cut on his lip before turning his full attention on Nasir again.

“Sorry, man. Pets are not allowed in.”

Nasir stepped away from the bikes, leaving Agron behind clinging to the chrome so hard his knuckles were white. Jail was almost, _almost,_ starting to look like the easier option at this point.

“Actually, I was thinking, maybe the three of us could have a little talk and clear the air,” Nasir said while Agron was doing his best to keep his breathing even, “On neutral ground, you know.”

Castus shot him a wry smile. “Sure. Thanks, but if it’s just gonna be a rerun of Saturday night, then no. Not even for you. Sorry.”

Nasir looked back over his shoulder. “Well, I was hoping Agron could convince you otherwise.”


	31. Chapter 31

“Are you sure this is the right place? Where is everyone?”

“These were the directions I got,” Agron said evenly and stepped out of Spartacus’ Transit and onto the gravel driveway. He took a cursory look around the yard, but it was just as empty and as abandoned as it had been for the last twenty years; there was not even a stray coyote in sight.

“But it’s five past already. Shouldn’t Vaughn be here by now? And what about Spartacus?”

“You like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Crixus said as he followed Agron out of the car.

Lyciscus turned to them with a blank face. “Just making sure we’re not wasting our time being lost in the middle of nowhere. Di Santo won’t wait for us forever.”

Somewhere in the distance a wail of sirens was coming closer.

“Well, let’s hope that's not meant for us,” Nemetes said with a forced laugh, but he was quickly silenced by a look from Lyciscus.

“Yeah, that would be a fucking shame, wouldn’t it?” Agron said.

The sound of sirens faded away again, but the air around them was quickly getting charged anyway – quicker than Agron had anticipated – and so he inched his hand slowly towards his gun.

But Lyciscus was quicker.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he said, pointing his gun at Agron then at Crixus and then back at Agron again.

Agron held up his hands. Slowly. “Well...someone’s in a mood. Done waiting, huh?”

“Looks like we got a mutiny on our hands, Agron,” Crixus added with a slow grin, “So is this the new and improved government strategy, _agent Caesar_? Shoot first and ask questions later, that about cover it?”

“No one needs to get hurt here,” the other man said, steadily, and with a deliberate smile. “You surrender voluntarily, answer each and every question like the good boys you are, and maybe you won’t end up missing out on too many of your kid’s birthdays. How’s that sound?”

Agron and Crixus shared a look and a smile.

“Jail’s never been a career goal to be honest,” Agron said.

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Caesar smiled amicably, and then, completely out of the blue and without warning, he pulled the trigger on Nemetes standing next to him, and the man fell down on the ground without as much as a dying whimper. The whole thing seemed to take no more than three seconds, and then the gun was already back on Agron again.

“So how does felony murder sound to you?”

“What the fuck...?”

Crixus sounded just about as blindsided as Agron felt, whereas Caesar barely even flinched at the blood splatters now decorating his shirt.

“The way I see it, you’ll both be looking at life without parole soon, unless someone puts in a good word for you. So you might want to reconsider the attitude, gentlemen.”

“It’s three against one, so I think I’d rather just take my chances here,” Agron said.

The man smirked. “Math really isn’t your strong suit, is it? Or biology. You see, Nemetes here won’t be getting up any time soon.”

“He wasn’t talking about Nemetes.”

The grin on Caesar’s face froze along with the rest of him at the voice behind him. Though only for a second or two.

“So this is your backup?” he sneered, “A Valley girl with a bad attitude? Should I be scared?”

Agron smiled to himself and Crixus huffed out a laugh. “Dude, she has a gun to you head. Probably best to ease up on the snark.”

“Throw the gun on the ground and get on your knees. Like a good boy, huh?”

Agron had to give Saxa credit for keeping her tone as steady as she did. And for not just blowing the guy’s brains out there and then.

The Glock landed on the grass with a thump, but before the rest of them had a chance to make a move, Caesar had already turned around and taken hold of the other gun and the woman at the other end of it.

And that was fucking it for Agron. He had had enough of standing by and watching his family getting killed by assholes in his life. Never again.

Going on instinct and adrenalin – and, as always with no particular strategy – Agron jumped right after them, succeeding to pry them apart somehow, landing on top of Caesar on the ground himself, grabbing his hand holding the gun. Agron wasn’t any more a trained special agent than Saxa was, and he didn’t even have a black belt to go with his dress shoes, but at least he had size and the size of his fists on his side.

Not that that necessarily meant anything if the very next moment you had the barrel of a gun pressing against your chest.

They did another complete 360 roll on the gravel before the gun finally went off somewhere between them. The pain didn’t surface until a moment later, dulled for the moment by all the adrenalin in his system. And by then the gun had already gone off a second time.

“Agron...”

“Agron?”

“Agron!”

It took him a moment to catch his breath, which was a little disconcerting since he’d only been rolling around on the ground for a few minutes not running a marathon. He made a silent promise to hit the gym more often from now on and then slowly pushed himself off the body under him and finally made it on to his knees. His left thigh was throbbing like hell now, and he glanced down just as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re bleeding,” Saxa said as she kept wiping the blood dribbling from the cut on her own brow, “Should we get you to a hospital?”

Agron shook his head. “You have Mira’s number, right? Ask her if she could spare a trip to the countryside for an hour or two. And maybe bring some extra clothes with her. Preferably not a skirt.”

He clambered up from the ground with a groan while Saxa expectedly rolled her eyes at him, and then she was already pulling the cell out of her jeans and making the call.

Crixus, on the other hand, was still standing two feet to the side with his gun drawn, looking at the bodies on the ground.

“So that turned out well, eh?” he said and shook his head slowly.

“If you’re done with the commentary, I could do with some help over here.”

Agron took off his cut and then his flannel and proceeded to rip the shirt apart when Crixus finally walked over.

“Okay, Wiener schnitzel,” he said, as he started wrapping the cloth around Agron’s denim-clad thigh, “After we’ve got you sorted, it’s time to decide what we’re gonna do with the casualties. Any ideas?”

Agron hissed as the denim dug deeper into his skin. “Since I’ve already done most of the heavy lifting here, maybe you could try contributing something for a change.”

“Fair enough.”

Crixus tightened the last knot on the DYI tourniquet, pulling it hard enough to make Agron wince and curse and whimper out loud.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Just doing my part. I was a nurse in a past life, don't ya know.”

“Florence fucking Nightingale, huh?”

“Mira will be in Barstow in forty-five minutes,” Saxa said as she came back, clearly deciding to ignore their bickering. “Think you’re good driving with that leg? I’d offer you a lift but you know what a bitch getting blood off the leather is.”

Agron had barely had the chance to answer in the affirmative when suddenly the approaching sound of gravel crunching under slow-rolling tires caught all of their attention.

The sedan came to a stop behind the old Transit already parked on the yellow grass, and the driver door opened and Gannicus stepped out, squinting a little at the harsh sunlight.

“Well, if it isn’t the fucking cavalry,” Crixus said with a wry grin. “A day late and a dollar short, I’m afraid.”

“Looks like you’ve managed well enough without me,” Gannicus said, scratching his chin as he took in the scene in front of him.

Agron limped after Crixus across the yard to meet the man. The pain was making him even less patient than usual, so he decided it was best to keep the chit-chat to a minimum.

“Everything all right at the other end?” he asked, “Did Spartacus send you here for a reason?”

“Just doin’ a little babysitting. Making sure you boys don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He smirked and put on the pair of sunglasses hanging on his shirt collar. “Don’t worry, Sparty-boy seemed to have everything under control when I last saw him. Just before Mr. O kicked me out again.”

Gannicus chuckled to himself, but it was the sound of a helicopter flying overhead that quickly wiped the grin off his face.

“Choppers, huh?” Agron said, as they all peered up to the sky, “They’re really pulling all the stops today. I bet Vaughn feels special.”

“That’s the Feds for you, man. Have to stick their little noses into everything and put on a Broadway show every time they wanna cuff someone.” Gannicus cast another look at the men lying on the ground and shook his head. “And then it’s up to us poor commoners to come along and clean up their mess once they’ve gone.”

He sighed and lifted his phone to his ear.

“Hi, Bob? Yeah, O’Connor here. You know that hush-hush Di Santo raid you’ve been working on?... Yeah, the one going on right now, and no, don’t ask me how I know. Anyway... it looks like I’ve got a relevant double homicide here for you. Some kind of a scuffle, ended in them killing each other, you know how it is.... Look, just get your ass over here, I don’t want to do this on the phone... The old mill just off Mackenzie and Beverly. And bring a tech team and the ME. And have the Feds on speed dial. You can thank me later.”

He put the cell away and glanced at Agron’s bloodied leg over the rim of his glasses.

“As much as I appreciate citizen participation, I’d advise you good folks to move along now. You’re contaminating the crime scene. Oh and guys?”

Saxa was already walking back to the bike parked behind the building, but Agron stopped, hand on the car door, and looked over his shoulder.

“...Try to stay out of trouble now, you hear?”

Taking advantage of the diversion, Crixus grabbed the keys out of Agron’s hand and ushered him to the passenger side of the car.

“We’ll do our best,” the VP said and clasped a hand on Gannicus’ shoulder, “But thanks for the heads up, man, you seem to be on a roll with those lately. Too bad you’re a cop, might even call you a friend otherwise.”

Gannicus flashed them both a grin. “Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day, eh fellas?”


	32. Chapter 32

Agron bypassed the window where a slightly worse-for-wear sign was advertising no vacancies and walked straight into the bar next door instead.

It had been a good while since he had last been in this place, but once the door shut behind him with a muted thump, it was as if he had suddenly been transported back in time and the two odd years in between had never been. It was all there: the same stained plank floors, the same crappy lighting, the same worn out leather on the seats.

The same man behind the bar.

Oenomaus nodded briefly in acknowledgment and then went back to stacking glasses on the back shelf.

For a second, Agron was almost convinced that he could even hear his brother’s voice from the pool table. But of course it was just Tychos and some kid Agron had never seen before, and so he just as quickly shook off the thought.

“Fuck, man. After all that, I need a shower and a call home,” Crixus said, sounding uncharacteristically somber as he patted Agron’s shoulder absentmindedly and then ambled away.

Agron knew what he meant, so he let the man go his way, while he turned to the woman standing next to him. Mostly, because sitting alone in his room tonight was an even worse prospect than making small talk. Also, Donar had the key.

“Fancy a drink, Doc?”

“If you’re buying.”

As soon as they had sat down at the bar, Oenomaus appeared and then placed two pints in front Agron without question or a word before quickly walking away again.

Agron raised a mock toast to the man’s back with a wry smile and took a drink of his mystery beer. It wasn’t bad.

“So...what’s with the face?” he asked, “Usually when someone gets me naked at the back of an old Transit for an afternoon, they come out looking happier than that.”

Mira side-eyed him for a heartbeat and then went back to sipping her beer.

“Don’t flatter yourself. And anyway, a girl can’t be serious for a second?”

Agron sighed. “So what did he do this time?”

“And not all of my problems have to do with men or this club, thank you very much. There’s more to life than _this_ , I have you know.”

“It’s your day off and you’re sitting in the middle of the desert drinking beer with me. So sorry if I don’t believe you.”

She scoffed and drank a little more. “Whatever.”

“You have to know by now that it didn’t mean anything,” Agron said finally, slowly, while peering into his glass, “It’s just s–”

“Your little lawyer’s not the problem, Agron,” she interrupted with a wry smile. “Never was. And no, Spartacus and I are not gonna be spending the next five years arguing over whether we were on a break or not either. So don’t look so worried.”

“Sorry...what?”

Mira looked at him for a moment like she was waiting for him to catch on to something that was supposed to be apparent, but then she finally let it go and gave Agron a quick flash of a tired smile.

“Never mind. Anyway, some hanger-on in heels and a plunging neckline is hardly the issue here. Ghosts on the other hand...” She drummed her fingers against the glass a couple of time before continuing with a sigh, “It’s damn exhausting to keep competing against shadows, Agron. It just took me a little too long to figure out exactly _how_ exhausting it is.”

“You realize ghosts don’t actually exist, right?”

“My point exactly.”

“Then maybe best stop competing.”

She took another quick sip of the beer and then gave Agron a look that this time was actually bordering on amused.

“You’re the last person around here I’d have expected to turn Dr. Phil on me, have to say.”

“Dr. Who?”

“Not _Dr. Who_ , that’s a whole other...” She sighed. “You don’t watch much TV, hon, do you?”

“Things to do, places to see, Doc,” Agron answered. “So anyway... this doctor, is he a friend of yours or something? A boyfriend?”

“Not exactly.” Mira kept shaking her head and then quite abruptly started chuckling, leaving Agron even more confused than before. “Also, not a real doctor. Just someone who likes to give people advice anyway. Speaking of, since you’re on a roll here, what would you say to this?”

Agron took the offered phone a little hesitantly and then glanced at the string of texts on the screen. He paused a second at the number at the top, but decided not to comment. If the content of the texts was any indication, he’d have to cross that bridge soon enough, but he’d still leave it for another night.

“What about it?”

“That last one. It _is_ what I think it is, right?”

“I’m afraid you’ve mistaken my boredom for interest. And if you’re looking for a gay best friend, you can just keep on looking, ‘cos I’m not in the mood. I was just making conversation.”

“You know perfectly well why I’m asking _you_ ,” she said with another heavy dose of side-eye. “And don’t worry, this is a one-time thing, so I won’t be coming to you for fashion tips anytime soon. I know all I need to know about denim and leather already.”

Agron rolled his eyes but typed a reply and then handed the phone back to the woman.

“What’s this?”

“You can fucking read,” Agron huffed, “It'll work. Just send it.”

Mira looked at him skeptically for a second longer but hit the send button anyway.

About a minute into Agron’s second beer, the phone started buzzing on the bar counter.

“And you’re welcome.”

But the woman was already too busy ignoring him, and Agron gestured for another beer. If only all his problems could be solved with a stupid pun and a pick-up line. The world would be a better place.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Another beer and a half an hour later, Agron found himself sitting alone at a corner table where Mira had finally left him to stew in his own misery. Not that Agron blamed her. They’d dodged so many bullets today – figuratively and otherwise – that he should’ve at least mustered a smile if nothing else, but for whatever reason, he didn’t feel the inclination.

In the background, Joplin was singing how freedom was just another word for nothing left to lose. And Agron was starting to think that maybe she had a point.

“Agron!”

He had barely turned his head at the voice when there was already a hand on his shoulder and then the rest of Nasir appeared, sounding just this side of out of breath and looking at him like Agron had just come back from the war and not from the bathroom.

“Fuck, we already thought...And you were _here_ all along? Fucking hell, Agron.”

The man plopped down on the chair next to him, and soon the hand on Agron’s shoulder rose to his face. Agron was still too mystified by the sudden onslaught of tenderness to react, but there would have been no time for that anyway, since Nasir was already talking again.

“Would it kill you to check your phone every once in a while? I mean, Jesus...”

“What–”

“Tha big fucker’s too stubborn tae die,” Lugo said and pulled up a chair for himself on the other side of the table. “I tried tellin’ ya tae stop worryin’ yer wee brain, didn’t I?” He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh. “But nobody listens tae old Lugo.”

Nasir’s hand was still resting on Agron’s cheek until he finally seemed to recognize what he was doing and quickly pulled it back.

“So what’s wrong?” Agron asked, realizing that he was already missing the touch.

_Goddammit_.

“Been tryin’ tae reach you for hours, is all, but no one’s picking up,” Lugo answered just as Castus appeared at the table carrying a handful of drinks.

Agron decided to ignore him.

“You were supposed to be back ages ago,” Nasir said, continuing where Lugo left off, “And then suddenly there was all this talk about you being shot and the next thing we know you and Crixus go and fly off the radar for the whole afternoon. I mean, it got so bad in here for a while that Naevia fucking drove over, even if she barely fits behind the wheel anymore.”

“Naevia’s here?”

“Tha lassie’s just havin’ a wean, mate, she ain’t an invalid.”

Agron rolled his eyes at the scolding. It was clear who Lugo had been talking to.

“So, anyway, finally Spartacus asked us to go looking,” Nasir continued, “Which is what _we’ve_ been doing for the last hour or so.” He grabbed one of the bottles from the table and then drank most of it in one. “So what the fuck were you doing out there for this long anyway?”

Agron peeled his eyes away from the workings of the man’s throat – in the circumstances, those mental images were a quick road to his personal hell, and he didn’t need another shortcut tonight.

“Bumped into some of Vaughn’s men on the way back and they were even less happy to see us than usual. Had words. You know how those things go.”

“ _Bumped_ into them, huh? And then you just _had_ to stick around for a chat with a bullet in your leg? Mira too?”

Agron shrugged. “The boys wanted to congratulate Crixus on the happy family news, so we felt it was only polite to say something nice in return. Those pesky Aryans are all about them manners, you know.”

Nasir sighed but nodded slowly before turning his frown back to the beer. “And Lyciscus and Nemetes?”

“Gone and gone.”

Agron left it at that, thinking it was the wisest course of action in the present company. The less details the better. Just in case.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Agron shot a tired look at the man smirking back at him from across the table. Apparently his plan to keep ignoring him wasn’t going to pan out after all.

“And why are you still here exactly?”

Castus huffed and sat back, taking a long swig of his beer.

“And where else d’you think I’d be? Heracleo’s not gonna be taking me back any time soon, and once the word is out that he’s working with the Feds, ain’t no one else gonna be hiring me either. So my hands are more or less tied here, so to speak.”

If he was looking for a shoulder to cry on, he was looking in the wrong place. As far as Agron was concerned, Castus was now more than welcome to go where the winds took him. A sailing trip around the world would be a nice start.

“So you’re saying there were no deals for the rest of you? No talk of immunity? No brushing shit under the rug? And informants can get a decent amount of money these days, if they milk it right. So who knows, maybe you’re just playing the long game here. I wouldn’t put it past Crassus to have a backup plan for the backup plan, and you fit the bill.”

“You still think I’m bed with the cops? Didn’t sound like it yesterday.”

Agron shrugged. “Sorry but I’ve done trusting people on their say-so for now. I guess you caught me in a bad year.”

“First off, I may like making small talk in general but I don’t make nice with the pigs,” Castus said. “I’m no snitch, okay? That’s not in the DNA. And second, that immunity crap is only something for you white boys, anyway. While guys like me end up getting their asses shot on their way to 7-Eleven on a Wednesday. Deal or no fucking deal.”

And maybe it was an easy hand to play in the circumstances, but that didn’t make the point any less valid. And as little sympathy as Agron had for the man at the other side of the table, he didn’t exactly have any more to spare for anyone in a uniform either. So he stayed quiet for once, while he finished his beer

“Well, none of it matters anyway,” he said finally, placing the glass back down and looking up across the table, “The club’s out of money, so unless you’re looking to volunteer, there’s no job for me to give you. Whether I’d want to or not.” He shot the man another look. “Sorry.”

He had never been less apologetic in his life.

“I could help you with that, if money’s really the only thing standing in your way.”

Agron snorted. “Don’t tell me...got another simple gun deal up your sleeve? Yeah, I think we’re gonna pass this time.”

“No, a simple Trojan actually.”

Confused, Agron’s first thought was that he was talking about condoms for whatever reason, but it was quickly clear that he wasn’t. It was also quickly clear that there was nothing simple about it. At least to Agron. So once Castus was done with his explanation, Agron looked to Nasir for a real one.

“Sounds like an algorithm that’ll skim pre-chosen accounts and then deposit the money where you want it. It would have to be small enough sums not to be detectable and you can’t keep it running for very long, but with enough accounts you could get a decent turnout. Enough to tie us over at least.” He shrugged. “It seems legit, but I’d have to take a look first before I can say anything for sure, viruses are not exactly something I know off the top of my head.”

“If you can just make money out of thin air, then why the fuck are you looking for a job in the first place?”

“Equipment and resources,” Castus answered simply. “Hard to be coding on the streets, man. Also, flying solo is not my jam, anyway. I mean, where’s the fun in that?”

“And you’d really be interested working with...” Agron couldn’t stomach finishing the sentence so he changed it halfway, “...for the club?”

Once the surprise had worn off, Castus flashed him another one of those grins that made Agron grab his fingers around the pint glass a little tighter just to keep them from wrapping around his neck.

“Oh, I’m interested.”

Agron could see Nasir open his mouth, and he was sure whatever the man was going to say would have been conciliatory and appeasing – because for better or worse that was Nasir for you – but Agron had had just about enough of conciliatory and appeasing for one night.

“Well, I’ll run it by Spartacus then,” he said before Nasir had the chance to utter the first word.

Although, to be honest, Agron was already pretty sure what the president would say. These were desperate times, and stealing from the rich and giving it to the poor was just the kind of Robin Hood crap Spartacus would be jumping into head first.

Clearly Agron wasn’t going to be getting rid of this shit stain anytime soon. Wonderful.

“You didn’t happen to catch Donar when you were coming in? I could really use a shower and apparently he’s got the key.”

The next thing he knew there was a room key being slid towards him over the top of the table. He looked at it for a second and then looked up at the man sitting next to him.

“Donar’s still on the road, so you can use the shower in mine,” Nasir said, and Agron couldn’t for the life of him read his face, so he was left guessing as their stare held over the table. “If you want.”

“Thanks.”

Their hands met halfway, and Agron’s fingers lingered a little longer than was necessary for their intended purpose. And he still found himself sitting in place a moment later, until he finally collected himself and got up, so quickly that the chair nearly fell down on the floor after him.

“You don’t mind?” he asked Lugo.

“Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye, mate.”

And it wasn’t an answer to the question, but Agron left it at that and left the table, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder every unsteady step he took.

Lou Reed was still playing behind his back, when Agron finally walked out into the back yard. And the music kept drifting out through the open kitchen window even after the door had already slammed shut behind him and he was limping towards the stairs at the back. And maybe, had this been a movie, the song choice would have been a little too on the nose, but then life – at least his – often seemed to be stranger than fiction anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wean = a wee one/baby   
> Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye = What's for you will not go by you / What's meant to happen will happen


	33. Chapter 33

Agron was busy wrapping the towel around his waist as he stepped out of the bathroom, so it took nearly tripping over Nasir’s feet before he finally noticed the other man in the room.

“Isn’t it a little early for bed?”

Nasir didn’t answer and instead fixed his eyes on the tape on Agron’s thigh and then let them travel up to the bruise on his shoulder. And the next thing Agron knew, the other man was already off the bed and standing in front of him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Agron said and tried to shrug away the fussing hand. Then he gave a tired laugh that came out just as strained as he had expected. “You should see the other guy.”

The hand stayed on Agron’s shoulder for another three seconds before Nasir finally pulled it away again.

“Look, now that we’re both here and have a minute... We really need to talk about–”

“I know,” Agron said quickly, “I’m sorry. About being an ass and... everything. You were right, and I almost let the club crash and burn because I wanted to make a point. _And_ I didn’t listen to you when I should have. So yeah, I know, it’s all my fault.”

Agron doubted it would make much difference now, but it was long overdue in any case. And he might have been pigheaded and too proud on occasion – maybe on most – and eating crow wasn’t exactly a favorite pastime, but he liked to think that in the end he was at least able to be fair to those who deserved it, if nothing else.

“And I thought I was ready for this relationship business, but I guess I was wrong on that too. I’m just sorry you had to get caught up in the middle of my bullshit again. But at least this time it was me who ended up getting shot.” He gave another quick laugh. “Fair’s fair and all that.”

At that point, Nasir seemed ready to say something in return, but Agron cut him off early and then maneuvered carefully past him to get his clothes from the bed.

It would be easier to do this without the eye contact, anyway.

“You deserved better than that. And you should have better than that from now on. Which is why–”

“For fuck’s sake Agron, it was just a fight. No need to go this fatalistic on me.”

Confused, Agron looked over his shoulder and then only grew more confused when he found Nasir smiling back at him. And that definitely was the last thing Agron had been expecting to see tonight.

“I get that you’ll never be a happy-go-lucky, hope-for-the-best kind of guy, but you have to stop doing this, okay?” Nasir continued and stepped closer, taking the jeans from Agron’s hand and throwing them back on the bed. “The world doesn’t have to end every time we have a fight. We deal with it, make up and move on like normal people. Now you’re making it sound like one of us is going to war and we’ll never see each other again.”

“But–”

“And it wasn’t _all_ your fault,” he continued, “I mean, Castus isn’t subtle, I get it. And I wasn’t exactly thinking only about the club either. The more pissed at you I was the more I kept goading you on. And yeah, if it had been the other way around, I would’ve probably punched him too. A couple of times maybe. I mean, I like him, but that doesn’t make him any less of an asshole to you.”

“But–”

“And maybe I would’ve had a chance to tell you all this sooner, but you’ve been hiding away from me all week.” He tutted and briefly brushed his fingers over Agron’s shoulder again. “And here I thought you Kohlers were supposed to be tougher than that and not run away from a fight.”

“It’s been a little–”

“Busy, I know. But when isn’t it, though?” Nasir said, apparently determined not to let Agron get a word in edgewise. “Which is why I think it’s better if we stop wasting our time with dramatics from now on and settle our shit on the spot. And speaking of... Just so we’re clear, I’m gonna be talking to other guys in the future and I might even smile to some of them every now and then, and you’re just gonna have to learn to deal with that and keep your fists to yourself, okay?”

Still feeling a little too blindsided to contribute anything substantive to the conversation, Agron just stood staring at the man in silence, until Nasir finally had had enough and poked him in the chest.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Then Nasir poked Agron chest again, and this time the hand stayed on Agron’s skin and then slowly moved up to his neck, cupped the back of it and pulled Agron face down somewhere to the vicinity of his own.

“But don’t think it’s _this_ easy,” he murmured against Agron’s lips, breaking the kiss and pushing Agron away again. After about a minute. “We’re not just gonna jump into bed, okay? That’s not how this goes.”

“Says the guy with a bottle of lube in his back pocket,” Agron said and finally felt it was safe enough to smile again. The hurricane was over and he was grounded at last.

Nasir seemed to have that effect on him.

“Who said it’s for you, huh?”

“Ouch.”

Though, honestly, even the teasing now was such a relief after all the worst case scenarios his brain been conjuring up lately that Agron barely even felt the sting of the burn. But that was when he pulled something else familiar out of Nasir’s pocket, and all that was missing was a record-scratch sound in the background as the scene came to a halt again.

“Oh yeah, that,” Nasir said and shrugged matter-of-factly, “I wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d play it safe...”

And Agron let out a breath that was more relieved than he would’ve wanted to admit.

“It’s only been a _week,_ ” he said taking the condom between his fingers,“How horny do you think I am?”

“So you’re telling me you don’t think that I’ve been doing it with Castus all this time?”

“Well, have y–” But Agron stopped himself before he got there and quickly shook his head. “No. Sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well it does kinda matter,” Nasir said and snatched the condom back and wiggled it in front of Agron’s face. “This matters. Barebacking is not supposed to be a trust exercise. I think it was you who said it first. So unless we stick to oral tonight, make sure you’re sure, okay?”

Agron took a deep breath.

“So did you?”

“No.”

And that would have been enough for Agron, but Nasir wasn’t done. He took a step forward, forcing Agron to back up until his legs were hitting the edge of the bed.

“But I could have. I mean, not saying I was never tempted.”

“Right.”

The other man stepped closer again, and this time there was nowhere else for Agron to go and he ended up down on the mattress, making the old bed springs squeak under his weight.

“But I didn’t,” Nasir continued.

“Okay.

“Because A, as flattering as the whole not-taking-no-for-an-answer spiel was for the first five minutes, that thirsty shit gets old fast. And I really don’t need someone else telling me what I should want and how I should want it, not you and definitely not some guy off the street. No matter how good he looks in a tight shirt.”

He stopped and looked at Agron for a second giving him a deliberate smile. “You’re with me so far?”

But he didn’t wait for an answer this time either and climbed after Agron on the bed, shutting him up with a kiss, before Agron even had a chance to draw in breath let alone form a coherent thought.

“And B...there will be no one else. I promise I am just as disgustingly monogamous as you are. You know that too, right?”

Finally, Agron was able to get his words in order long enough to reply.

“You don’t have to say that,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers against the man’s face, “It doesn’t matter. I told you.” But the words and the tenderness seemed to have the opposite effect than he had intended, and soon Nasir was scrambling back and on the floor and away from him.

“You still don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” Agron said and sat up, grabbing Nasir’s wrist to keep him from getting further away. “But that’s not the point. Fucking other guys is not the point. Or fucking Castus even. That was never the goddamn point.”

Nasir stood still and kept looking at him like Agron had suddenly started speaking Chinese instead of English.

“What?”

“Okay, I’m not saying I _haven’t_ been jealous or never get jealous again. I probably will tomorrow.” He took a deep breath. “And no, I’m not exactly hoping for an open relationship here. You know I’m too territorial and shit for that. So, that’s not what I’m saying–”

“Then what _are_ you saying?”

“You being with someone else is not the worst that could happen. But you finding someone better...”

“And you think someone like Castus is better?”

Nasir’s laugh was a little on the incredulous side, but Agron shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t exactly his call to make.

“There’s seven billion people in the world, so yeah, I’m sure if I looked long enough I could probably find someone nicer or funnier or better looking or whatever,” Nasir said. “And so could you. So could fucking _everyone_. But I don’t want to waste my time going through a throng of worse people on the off chance I might find someone better. How many times do I have to say that until you listen? I’m happy _here_.”

“But how long, though?” And Agron wasn’t being obtuse on purpose, he just honestly didn’t know.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

The word ‘forever’ was right there at the tip of his tongue, but Agron swallowed it down at the last minute. Not only was it a little early to be using words like that, but ‘forever’ wasn’t exactly a staple of his relationship vocabulary to begin with. But now that the thought had appeared once, it was hard to make it go away again.

And maybe it was a little on the optimistic side considering they had only been together for a year and one of them was basically still a glorified teenager and the other one an accident waiting to happen. And Agron definitely knew better than to be expecting a fairytale ending in anything.

But maybe for once he could try this hoping-for-the-best business. It couldn’t hurt. More than usual, anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, and one last thing. For future reference in the wardrobe department.”

“Yeah?”

“Towels.”

“Towels?”

“Towels.”

 

* * *

 

The sun went down somewhere in between the kissing and biting and teasing and laughing and the love and the ruined sheets, and soon the room was getting darker around them, lit only by the flickering motel sign outside the window that kept coloring everything in regular bursts of pink and blue.

“Fuck, Agron...”

He followed the line of the other man’s arm all the way up to his fingertips and finally joined their hands against the sheet that had already nearly crumpled into a ball under them. The chapped skin of a heel scraped against his back somewhere.

“...Right there.”

“There?”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah...”

Agron took it slow for a while longer, drawing it out as long as he was allowed to. Until blunt nails scraped against his skull and then down his neck, before sinking into his shoulder.

“Come on, stop teasing,” Nasir whined, pushing against him in a futile attempt to expedite the proceedings.

Agron grabbed his hips and pressed him down on the bed, latching onto his lower lip and making him cry out again.

“Patience,” he growled against the man’s mouth. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the same idea himself. His dick and his ego, both. After their marathon session, there was only so long he was going to last and he was determined to get Nasir there first this time. It was only fair.

He snaked his good arm around the man’s waist and lifted half of him off the mattress, taking on his weight as he finally picked up speed.

And yes, it had just as much to do with control as it did with angles. Agron liked it well enough when the balance was 50/50, and he definitely liked it the other way around – probably even more than he ever wanted to admit. But having the power over someone was a whole other kind of a turn on, he wasn’t going to lie. He’d never take more than was given, but when it _was_ given freely like this, it was...

It was thighs pressing against his sides, fingers in his hair, competing pulses racing each other to the finish line. It was filth in his ears that was quickly returned, murmured back against the other man’s skin. Such glorious filth, it would’ve made even Saxa blush.

Well, okay, maybe not. But it was more than enough for the two of them.

“I’m gonna...”

And it was like a rubber band finally snapping in half, and Agron followed him over the ledge, jumping without a parachute and freefalling all the way to the pavement below.

Afterwards, the haze took its time to clear, and for a while Agron wasn’t exactly sure if he was up or down, in or out, still breathing or not.

“So here’s a question.”

It took Agron a moment to even register the fingers running through his hair again, let alone the voice drifting in his ear from somewhere above his head.

“Mm?”

“Was that even better than normal or am I just imagining things?”

Agron chuckled and finally pushed his face off of Nasir’s chest and propped himself up on his elbow.

“Must be all this desert air.”

“But I thought the third one is always the worst movie of the bunch, right?”

“Well, maybe you’ve just lucked the hell out in the partner department. Yeah, now that I think about it, that must be it.”

The look he received would have cut down trees.

“You’re some sex god now, are you?”

Agron ignored the hands pushing him away and leaned back down to give the man a kiss anyway.

“Just going by the evidence, babe.”

“And what am I in this scenario? Chopped fucking liver?”

Agron pecked his lips again just for the hell of it.

“Best sex I’ve ever had.”

The hands wedged between them quickly slipped around Agron’s waist again, and he grinned a little wider.

“Think you can live with that?”

“Maybe.”

“How about, best _anything_ I’ve ever had?”

Nasir rolled his eyes. “Have any wine to go with the cheese?”

“Just a half a bag of Skittles and tap water.”

“It’s a start.”

 

* * *

 

Agron wasn’t exactly surprised when he found the room dark on his return. He skipped the empty bed closest to the door, placed the bottles of soda on the nightstand and didn’t even bother taking off his t-shirt or jeans and just crawled next to the other man welding them together like he had never left in the first place.

“You took a shower without me?”

“You were gone forever,” Nasir mumbled, burying his face back in his pillow.

Agron picked some wet strands of hair from his mouth and pulled the other man closer. “Sorry. Ran into Castus downstairs.”

Nasir yawned and then finally rolled over and shimmied on the mattress until they were more or less face to face. “Please tell me you didn’t break anything this time.”

“No fighting. You’d be happy to know we had a perfectly civil conversation.”

“About...?”

“Nothing serious. Just that, as it happens, he’s staying in the next room. And the walls are thin.”

Agron did his best to keep the smirking to an acceptable level, but it was getting difficult. And sure, maybe it was childish as hell. And maybe it made it impossible for him to hold on to any moral high ground from here on out, but who the fuck cared? Agron certainly didn’t.

“So I promised we’ll keep the headboard banging to a minimum from now on.”

“Mm...too tired anyway.”

“I thought you were thirsty.”

“Too tired to be thirsty.”

“You could’ve told me that twenty minutes ago, you know.”

“I was thirsty then and I might be thirsty in the future. Deal with it.”

“God, you’re like a spoiled, lazy little cat, aren’t you?”

“Not so little,” Nasir countered and yawned again, slipping his hand under Agron’s shirt as he snuggled in closer. “There’s a perfectly fine empty bed for you over there, by the way. You really don’t have to cram into mine.”

Agron rolled onto his back and took the other man with him, silently resigning to waking up with a collapsed lung tomorrow

“I really don’t like cats, you know.”

“And I really don’t like giant lumps of meat hogging the bed. We all got our crosses to bear, baby.”

 


	34. Chapter 34

He sipped the coffee as he walked out of the kitchen. It tasted bitter and a little burnt which meant it had probably been standing in the pot for a while now. No surprise there. It might have been a rare free holiday morning to most people in the country, but leave it to Agron to be up with the damn sun anyway.

He could hear the dog’s nails clicking against the floor somewhere out of sight, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the music wafting in from the open garage door at the end of the corridor. Some old Pink Floyd, maybe, but Nasir wouldn’t swear on it. He liked it well enough, but music was more Agron’s jam as it were. When it came to art, Nasir had always been more into the visual side of things.

And speaking of visual...

He stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. And for a good minute or two, he kept sipping his undrinkable coffee and just watching.

And it wasn’t perfect, more like a work in progress – both the car and the man. But then what Nasir had here was too good to be ruined by perfection anyway.

The battle scars in the paintwork and the old engine under the hood that kept overheating too quickly. And the body that – if Nasir was being completely honest – at the end of the day was a fraction too tall for his taste, but...

Goddamn if it didn’t look _fine_.

“Did you have any actual plans for today, or are you just gonna stand there staring at my ass?”

Nasir hid his grin behind the rim of his mug. “Are you complaining?”

“Just asking,” Agron said. He closed the hood on the old Chevy and straightened his back with a subtle groan and turned to look at him. “So? Plans?”

“Thought I’d hazard out to see apartments again,” Nasir answered biting back a sigh. “There must be one out there that’ll work for me. They can’t _all_ be that bad, right?”

Agron gave him a quick smile and then walked to the workbench on the side, flipping the wrench in his hand. “I told you. There’s no rush.”

“Gee, thanks baby, but if I stay here any longer, I might as well just start paying rent to you.”

“Well, maybe there’s an idea.”

Nasir snorted.

“Working together _and_ living together? We’d kill each other after the first month. No way can you deal with me 24/7. Or I with you.”

“Well, to be fair, you mostly work for Spartacus these days. And I’m on the road like third of the year at least. Between all that and your night classes, this house is where I see you most of the time anymore, if I see you at all.” He dropped the wrench on the table and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands clean. “And not to use a cliché, but why would you pay all that money for a place you barely even use for storage anymore? Most of your stuff’s already here anyway.”

“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

“I’ve not not-thought about it,” Agron said and leaned back against the work bench, watching him from under his brow.

“But still...it’s a little early for all that, don’t ya think?”

“I don’t know what’s so early about it, since it’s clear that that’s where this is heading anyway – one day. So why not today?”

The next breath he took left the man’s shoulders rising and falling, and then he was pushing himself off the table and turning around again. “But I get it. You want to keep your own place too. Have your independence and shit. It makes sense. I guess.”

Nasir smiled to himself and finally walked over, putting the coffee mug down on the cluttered work table before wrapping his arms around the bigger man. Agron smelled of yesterday and engine grease and stale cigarette smoke; and yes, for a split second Nasir might have found himself thinking that he smelled like home.

But then he just as quickly shook off the thought; this was not something he was going to decide on a whim and a semi on a Monday morning and with nothing but half a mug of coffee under his wings.

“Don’t mope, you big idiot. It wasn’t a ‘no’, more like a ‘try again later’.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Uh-huh.” He chuckled and kissed the familiar ink that kept spilling on Agron’s shoulder from under his tank top. “You’re such a baby, you know that?”

Agron shook his head, and even though Nasir couldn’t exactly see his face from this angle, it didn’t take much guessing that he was rolling his eyes so hard that they were at risk of rolling off completely. And then he turned around, grabbed Nasir’s ass – because of course he would – and pulled him closer.

“Yeah, guess you _do_ have a point. We would kill each other after the first month.”

Then his hand slipped under the waist of the sweatpants, and no later there was a familiar eyebrow arching on his forehead again.

“Someone dressed in a hurry today.”

“Any complaints?”

But in the end there were no complaints, just wrenches and bolts and cans of wax being pushed aside and the old table creaking under Nasir’s weight.

And Agron had skipped a few haircuts when Nasir hadn’t been looking, but Nasir quickly realized he preferred it this long anyway. Gave him something to hold on to.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck, I’m coming... Yes, I’m coming! Jesus, no need to knock down the walls!”

Nasir kept cursing to himself as he half-walked half-ran along the corridor, pulling his towel dry hair back into a ponytail when he finally came to a stop by the front door.

“Yes, who is it... Donar?”

Well, there was a face he had least expected to see today. Normally, a three-day-weekend meant that the older man should have been nursing a hangover well into Wednesday at least.

“What’s up? Something wrong?”

“Just returning lost property,” Donar replied, making Nasir frown deeper. “Found this one hanging around the club when I was getting out this morning. Says he belongs to you.”

Then he stepped aside and Nasir could finally see who he was talking about. Not that the seeing necessarily helped if you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The boy might have been twice as old and twice as tall as the last time, and his hair had grown out and he was wearing glasses he never had before, but it was him. It had to be. Even if Nasir also knew that it in no way could be. Because...how?

“So you know the kid or what?”

“Yeah,” Nasir said when he was finally able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “That’s... my brother.”

 

* * *

 

“Wow, so this isn’t exactly what I was expecting. Have to say.”

Nasir put the glasses of orange juice on the coffee table and sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa while trying his hardest not to keep staring at the kid sitting there. At least too blatantly.

“And what _did_ you expect?” he asked, half-amused, while the other half of him seemed to still be in a semi-permanent state of shock, “A trailer park?”

“I dunno...I mean...this is a _real_ house, you know,” Ish answered, looking around him on the sofa. “I didn’t think bikers had houses. And it’s kind of nice and everything. Is it yours?”

“Well, no...” Nasir reached for the drink just to give him something to do to keep his hands busy. “I’m in between places right now, so I’m staying with...a friend.”

“The big guy who just left?”

Nasir hummed and drank a mouthful of juice in lack of anything better to say or do.

“And the dogs?” his brother asked as he kept petting the one lying halfway on his lap. “I thought you hated dogs. Didn’t you? Or maybe I’m just remembering wrong.”

“I did...I do. But these aren’t _my_ dogs. Exactly.”

Now, to be completely fair, he had been the one convincing a reluctant Agron to take them off of Lucius’ hands originally. So to call them _Agron’s_ dogs would have been a little misleading. But since they lived at Agron’s and ate his food...well, they weren’t exactly Nasir’s dogs either, now were they?

“I always wanted a dog, but...you know how Dad is.”

“Yeah well, he has a lot of rules, doesn’t he?”

Nasir quickly bit his lips before he said anything else. He had already been right on the verge of slipping in words like _fucking, hypocritical_ and _asshole,_ and that was not how he wanted to go about this. It wasn’t out of respect for his father – that had run out a long time ago – but out of respect for the father his brother had.

If that made sense.

The boy glanced up at him and hiked his glasses up his nose before dropping his eyes back to the dog.

“I know it probably sounds weird, but for a long time I thought I’d just imagined you and you weren’t even real. So it’s kinda freaking me out a bit to be talking to you now, if I’m honest.”

“What?”

“Well, one day you were there and then the next you were gone, and suddenly there were no pictures of you anywhere and everyone stopped talking about you, and... I just started thinking that maybe I’d just made you up. Or that you were just a character in a story I read somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

His brother shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know but–”

“So why’d you leave?”

Nasir took another deep breath and placed his glass back on the table. It took more effort than he had expected to get the words out without the familiar flush of anger reaching the surface.

“I didn’t...leave.”

Not that all anger was bad necessarily; it had taken a lot of anger just to get him to survive this far, after all. He had hated everyone involved at some point or another – his parents and God and himself. And there was a part of him – a part he rarely brought up even with Agron – who still was on the fence about who exactly had been wrong all along. A nagging voice at the very back of his head that kept telling him that maybe if he’d just been _normal_ and done the right thing, he could’ve...

But just as quickly that voice was drowned out by a far louder and a far more agreeable one that was telling him to get a grip and stop being a fucking idiot.

And so he did.

“I wasn’t really given a chance to choose.”

He paused there for a second, wondering if he should continue or not. But then, if his brother was this okay with the tats and the whole biker-thing, hearing the rest couldn’t be any worse. Nasir hoped.

“Dad and his rules, you know. Gays and dogs not allowed.”

Ish looked up again and somehow succeeded in looking both surprised and not at the same time.

“But you were a kid. I mean, that’s messed up.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You must’ve been, what? My age?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s, like, young though.”

Nasir wasn’t sure if he was talking about being gay or being thrown out on the street, so he left it at that and then waited patiently for the follow up questions. But once it started to be clear that there weren’t any – for now, anyway – he decided to finally change the subject.

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

Ish shrugged his narrow shoulders again, and Nasir took it as a no.

“I’ll heat something up for you. If you’re okay with leftovers, that is?”

At first, he took his brother’s frown as a sign of disapproval. After all, if the kitchen in the old Hakim household was anything like it had been when Nasir was still living there, yesterday’s macaroni wouldn’t exactly be something his brother would be familiar with. But finally Nasir realized that Ish’s reservations had probably little to do with the finesse of the cuisine.

“It’s just some mac and cheese, it should be okay,” he said, “But I’ll check.”

“Do you still...?”

Nasir shook his head but decided not to extrapolate. Dietary choices were the least of his sins against any gods, but then those sins were nothing his baby brother needed to know about. And definitely not within the first hour of getting to know each other again. It would only raise questions Nasir wasn’t sure he still had answers to himself.

“You probably think I’m like some idiot ‘cause I do.”

Ish’s tone made Nasir stop again in the middle of the floor and turn around one more time.

“My life is my life and yours is yours. You’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you. Not me or Mom and Dad and definitely not some ignorant idiot on the street who thinks he knows better than you. You get all that, right?”

“I guess.”

Nasir knew how he felt, he’d been like that as a kid, too – seesawing between going all in or just saying fuck no to everything, never seeing the middle ground in between. In the end, life had pushed him towards the ‘fuck no’ option, but it wasn’t up to Nasir to try and make his brother’s mind up for him this way or that way. All he could hope for was that no one else ended up doing it to him either.

“But maybe we can leave the religion talk to another time, okay? Come on, time to get off your ass and help me with the food.”

“But–”

“Real world lesson number one, Ish. No free lunches.”


	35. Chapter 35

Nasir looked around him on the mall parking lot one more time before turning his attention back to the kid shuffling his feet in front of him.

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay from here? You won’t get into trouble for this?”

“If they ask, I’ll just say I missed the car. I’ve done this before, don’t worry.”

Nasir narrowed his eyes and grabbed the boy’s shoulder as he looked at his brother more carefully.

“Okay, that doesn’t help, Ish. You’ve done this _before_? What do you mean, exactly? I don’t want you to–”

“ _You_ really want to start telling me what to do now? Which one of us is in a gang again?”

“No, I just...” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Or get in trouble at home.”

“I won’t,” his brother said, smirking suddenly, “I’m smarter than you, okay?”

Nasir laughed but let the comment be. “Okay.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Look, I don’t know if that’s...”

Nasir’s voice trailed off as he looked at his brother and consequently kept weighing all the possible options in his head. And he knew what the right thing to do would be, knew what he _should_ be saying. He knew he shouldn’t be selfish and drag his brother into his life like this. But hell, how could he not?

“If you want to.”

Ish nodded eagerly and in spite of himself Nasir couldn’t help but smile.

“But call me first, and I’ll come and pick you up. No more travelling on your own across the state, okay?”

“Okay, fine.”

“And no more skipping school trips, either. Or school for that matter.”

“Says the one who–”

“Exactly,” Nasir interrupted. “So I know what I’m talking about. Look. I don’t have a lot of rules, but I’m gonna stick to those. So do we have a deal?”

His brother pursed his lips and scrunched his nose in a way that Nasir was sure Agron would’ve said reminded him of Nasir. He didn’t see it, though.

Finally Ish relented with a huff. “Whatever,” he said and gave Nasir a reluctant yet no less genuine smile. “And what about...” he nodded his head towards the truck parked at the end of the closest row of cars, “...him?”

“What about him?”

“Will he be around too? Is he like your boyfriend or something? He is, right?”

“He’s...” Nasir glanced over his shoulder and then looked at Ish again. Guess there was no point dragging it out any longer and it seemed his brother had caught on anyway. “Sure. He’s a boyfriend. Or something. And yeah, he’ll probably be around for a while. Is that a problem?”

Ish shrugged his shoulders and pushed his hands as deep in his pockets as they went while he kept shuffling his feet for what to Nasir felt like a minute at least. And then the boy finally looked up from his sneakers, and Nasir held his breath.

“So next time, you’re letting me ride the bike, right?”

  


* * *

  


Nasir closed the car door after him and sat on the passenger seat without a word. Agron turned off the radio and the silence kept stretching for a good while.

“Let me guess, you’re mad at me?”

Nasir took a deep breath, and then another, waiting until he felt he was able to keep his voice steady enough to speak.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The other man drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before finally turning in his seat to face him.

“And what’s the problem, exactly? It turned out okay, didn’t it?”

“And what if someone had seen you talk to him? What if my folks had seen you?”

“They didn’t.”

“But they _could_ have. And then they think he’s joining a gang or buying drugs and next moment they lock him in his room for good, or worse yet, soon he’s out on the street as well. And even bad parents are better than no parents at all when you’re thirteen and with nowhere else to go.”

“Don’t you think he also deserves–”

“I’m fucking talking here.”

Agron held up his hands.

“And then he travels across L.A. and like two counties on his own just to come and find me. Do you get how horribly wrong that could have gone? I mean his shoes alone looked like they cost double my rent, and I’m also guessing taking the bus isn’t anything he’s done before. And trust me, street smarts isn’t exactly a thing they teach in Calabasas.”

“To be fair, I never meant for him to just take up and–”

“He’s barely a teenager! You can’t expect him to act like an adult. I mean, you’re more than twice his age, and you can’t even act like one either most of the time.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, what if he remembered the name of the club wrong? I mean how many clubs around there have blood in the name, huh? Dozens?” Nasir buried his face in his hands when the possibilities suddenly hit him even harder. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to him if he’d gone asking around in the wrong place? God, how quick would they have hung a kid like that to dry? Jesus, Agron...”

“He wouldn’t have gone to the wrong place.”

“And you know this how?”

“I gave him the address to the shop.”

Nasir’s head snapped to the side.

“What the hell? You _just_ said you didn’t mean for him to come looking.”

“Look, I’m sorry if...”

“No you’re not.”

“I _am_ sorry,” Agron repeated evenly, “To a point.”

“Which is...?”

“I get that you want him to be safe. Trust me, I get _that_. And I get that you think it’s better that he doesn’t know about you and never gets involved in your life... Our life.”

He brushed some hair away from Nasir’s face, and Nasir hated – hated with a capital h – him for doing it and then hated himself even more for never wanting him to stop.

“And I even get that there’s a part of you that _maybe_ didn’t want to reach out to him just in case he’d only end up saying ‘no thanks’.”

“Agron...”

The other man shrugged. “I said ‘maybe’.”

“Can we just get to the but already?”

“ _But..._ that’s all from your point of view. What about your brother? Have you ever thought that maybe he wanted to know about you too? That he had a right to know?”

“He’s a _child,_ Agron. He can’t decide that for himself. And sometimes it’s better if–”

“If my brother just disappeared from my life one day, hell yes I’d want to know if he was alive or not. I’d want to know where he was. I’d want to know if he was happy, how his life was, even if it wasn’t _perfect._ It’s still better than not knowing. It’s better than thinking that he’s dead. Always, no matter how old you are. Trust me on that.”

And that’s when Nasir finally understood. He had been so busy concentrating on Ish – and of course rightfully so – that it hadn’t even occurred to him once.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

But Agron cut him off with a shake of his head and a quick smile. “This isn’t about me and Duro. It’s about you and your brother. Be mad at me all you want, but at least stop worrying so goddamn much and just be happy that he’s still around. That he’ll be there in the future. At least that’s the vibe I’m getting...”

“Yeah he’ll be there,” Nasir breathed out, “And I had honestly thought I’d never see him again.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Agron held up his hands again.

“Thank you for being this irritating, rash and impulsive asshole who always does stupid things before thinking them through or consulting with me, and ends up making my life nothing but a never-ending line of horrible surprises.”

Agron started the car and finally pulled away from the parking lot, easing them carefully back into the slow flow of afternoon traffic.

“So does that mean you forgive me?”

Nasir waited until they came to a stop at the next traffic lights before he answered.

“No. That means that I’m moving in with you.”

“Aaand... now you’ve lost me again.”

“It’s the only way I have any chance to keep an eye on you,” Nasir said evenly “And you’re right, it saves us both money. So win-win and win.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

Nasir smirked and leaned back in his seat. “There’s a gas station at the next intersection. Pull up and I’ll go and buy flowers for you if you want.”

What Nasir didn’t anticipate, though, was to find himself five minutes later sitting in a Chevron parking lot watching Agron put the gear in park and turn to him with a perfectly innocent smile.

“Now, I’m not saying roses wouldn’t be nice. But whatever they have is fine, I’m not too picky.”


	36. Chapter 36

Agron read through the printed page one more time before letting it fall on the table.

“Well, have to say I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What can I say? Maybe it’s a whole new career opportunity for me.”

“Doing what? Performing weddings day in and day out?”

“What’s wrong with weddings?”

“Oh, I don’t know...what’s _not_ wrong with them?”

Spartacus snorted behind him again.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. As far as I’m concerned, my wedding day was the happiest day of my life, I’ll have you know.”

This time it was Agron’s turn to be snorting. “Okay, sorry, but now you’re just laying it on a little too thick,” he said and looked at the man sitting at the foot of the bed.

“And what does that mean?” Spartacus asked , “You know damn well that Sura was the best–”

“I’m not talking about _Sura_ ,” Agron said quickly since it looked like the other man was all but ready to jump him, “I’m talking about the wedding. Don’t try to tell me that getting suited up in a rental to recite Bible verses in front of a bunch of people you barely know was somehow the best moment of your life. I mean, really? No, that’s just some romance novel bullshit, man. I know you better than that.”

Spartacus closed his eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, excuse me for trying to bring romance into this. Apparently I chose the wrong venue. Who knew?”

“And this shoehorned, manufactured crap is as romantic as a Hallmark card, is all I’m saying,” Agron said.

“So I’m guessing I won’t be marrying you off anytime soon.”

Agron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, just because something’s legal doesn’t mean I should be doing it. And some of us can do life just fine without all the paperwork, you know.”

The president was still looking at him funny, but at least he didn’t look like he was going for a kill anymore, so Agron decided to take that as a concession and turned back to the mirror.

“And weddings are for women anyway,” he continued, and then Spartacus was already chuckling behind him again.

“Please tell me you’re going to repeat that later when there actually are women around. Because trust me, I’d pay good money to see how that goes down.”

Agron tried smoothing down the front of his hair, but finally gave up the effort with a sigh.

“Okay, let me rephrase. Weddings are for people who like to play dress up and for idiots with too much disposable income. Of any gender.”

“You’re lucky that I just put on a clean shirt,” Crixus said as he walked back in from the bathroom. “Cos otherwise you’d be dead by now.”

“You wouldn’t kill your best man.”

“You’re so far from the best, brother, it ain’t even funny. But at least standing next to your ugly mug will only make me look better. So you have that going for you.”

“And you were sure you didn’t want blood on that shirt?”

Agron was already taking a second step forward but didn’t make further than that when he felt Spartacus’ hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Now, now, children. No fighting. I already told Naevia I’d get all three of us out of this room alive, and I don’t like my chances if either of you walks out of here with a black eye.”

Crixus scoffed and then shoved them both aside as he stepped in front of the mirror himself.

“Anyway, talk shit all you like, Wiener schnitzel, but wait a month and you’ll be here doing the same thing. Mark my words.”

“And tell me one good reason why anyone would want to get married that hasn’t got to do with pretty dresses and cake toppings.”

“Tax benefits.”

“Oh god, I really hope you wrote something else in your vows,” Spartacus sighed behind them. But before Crixus had a chance to answer, he was cut off early by the door opening and Nasir leaning in through the doorway

“Everything’s ready,” he said, “We’ve got the cameras set up and guys keeping watch outside and there’s another security post just down the street. _And_ I saw Naevia drive in just now. So all systems go.”

Agron chuckled and grabbed his cut that was still hanging over the back of one the chairs by the window. “I thought this was supposed to be a wedding, not a security drill,” he said as he shrugged the vest back on over his button up.

“Better safe than sorry,” Spartacus said and pushed himself off the windowsill just as Mira appeared next to Nasir in the doorway.

“If you boys are done primping, it’s time to get going. And here...I’m guessing this belongs to you.” She then passed the baby to Agron before he had chance to react – or protest – and disappeared back into the hallway. “Now get a move on guys, or we’ll start without you!”

“Your baby, man,” Agron said, handing the girl out to Crixus, but the other man shook his head at him.

“I’m getting married in five, apple strudel,” he answered and pushed past Agron towards the open door, stopping just long enough to give the girl a quick kiss on the back of her head. “Just make sure you don’t drop her.”

Agron watched Crixus walk away and then quickly spun around to find Spartacus, but by then, the president had already disappeared from behind him and made it out to the corridor himself.

“Sorry, Agron. Duty awaits.”

Agron swallowed down a couple of curses and then decided to try his luck with the one last person still left in the room, but Nasir quickly held up his hands.

“You’re on your own,” he said. “I gotta go again, anyway. It’s so bad out there, I had to put Saxa in charge or else they would’ve gone straight for the food.”

“You know she’ll probably break a few arms just for the heck of it.”

“Yeah, well the guys can go cry to someone else about it, I really don’t care,” Nasir replied and turned to walk out again, sending Agron one last smile over his shoulder. “See you out there, baby. Looking good, by the way.”

“You talking to me or her?”

“You decide.”

Nasir’s back disappeared behind the corner after the others and Agron sighed.

“Well, I guess you just got yourself a date for the wedding, Ms. D,” he said and lifted the girl higher against his shoulder as he walked out the door. “But just so we’re clear, no puking on the vest. You break it, you buy it. That’s the deal, okay?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! And happy holidays everyone!


End file.
